THE  OPEN  SEA 


By 
EDGAR  LEE  MASTERS 

STARVED  ROCK 
MITCH   MILLER 
DOMESDAY  BOOK 
TOWARD  THE  GULF 
SONGS  AND  SATIRES 
THE  GREAT  VALLEY 
SPOON    RIVER   ANTHOLOGY 


THE  OPEN  SEA 


By 
EDGAR  LEE  MASTERS 


gorfe 

THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 
1921 

All  rights  reserved 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AME&1CA 


COPYRIGHT,  1921, 
BY  THE   MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 


Sei  jp  ?}id  electrotypcd.    Published  November,   1921. 


Press  of 

J.  J.  Little  &  Ives  Companj 
New  York,  U.  S.  A. 


CONTENTS 

PAR!    I 

PAGE 

BRUTUS     3 

Brutus  and  Antony 3 

At  the  Mermaid  Tavern 17 

Charlotte    Corday 31 

A  Man  Child  is  Born 49 

Richard  Booth  to  His  Son,  Junius  Booth     ....  52 

A  Man  Child  is  Born £7 

Squire  Bowling  Green 58 

Lincoln    Speaking   in   Congress 63 

John  Wilkes  Booth  at  the  Farm 64 

Junius  Brutus  Booth 66 

A  Certain  Poet  on  the  Debates 71 

PART  II 

The  Decision 81 

PART  III 

Lincoln  Makes  a  Memorandum 117 

Winter   Garden  Theatre ii$ 

The   Sparrow    Hawk   in  the   Rain 120 

Adelaide   and  John   Wilkes  Booth 134 

Brutus  Lives  Again  in  Booth 140 

Booth's  Philippi 151 

The  Burial  of  Boston  Corhett 160 

[v] 


.;. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  NEW  APOCRYPHA 163 

Business  Reverses 163 

The  Fig  Tree 166 

Tribute   Money 169 

The  Great  Merger 171 

At  Decapolis 174 

The  Single  Standard 178 

First   Entrants 183 

John  in  Prison 186 

Ananias  and  Sapphira 190 

The  Two  Malefactors 193 

Berenice 202 

NEBUCHADNEZZAR  OR  EATING  GRASS         212 

HIP  LUNG  ON  YUAN  CHANG 220 

ULYSSES 225 

THE  PARTY 232 

CELSUS  AT  HADRIAN'S  VILLA 238 

INVOCATION  TO  THE  GODS 248 

PENTHEUS  IN  THESE  STATES 253 

COMPARATIVE  CRIMINALS 262 

THE  GREAT  RACE  PASSES 270 

DEMOS  THE  DESPOT 272 

A  REPUBLIC 275 

THE  INN 277 

MONODY  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  WILLIAM  MARION  REEDY     .     .285 

GOD  AND  MY  COUNTRY 290 

THE  DUNES  OF  INDIANA 295 

NATURE 299 

[vi] 


THE  OPEN  SEA 


PART  ONE 
THE  OPEN  SEA 

BRUTUS 

BRUTUS  AND  ANTONY 

(Lucilius  Talks  at  a  Feast  Given  to  Aristocrates  in 

Rome.) 

B.  C.  20 


THE   OPEN   SEA 

BRUTUS 

BRUTUS  AND  ANTONY 
Part  I 

(Lucilius  Talks  at  a  Feast  Given  to  Aristocrates  in  Rome) 
B.  c.  20 

How  shall  I  write  this  out?     I  do  not  write. 
Talk  to  you?    Yes,  and  tell  of  Antony, 
And  how  I  knew  him.    There  at  Philippi 
I  let  myself  be  captured,  so  to  give 
Time  to  escape  to  Brutus — made  pretense 
That  I  was  Brutus,  and  so  Brutus  flies 
And  I  am  captured.    Antony  forgives  me, 
And  to  his  death  I  was  his  faithful  friend. 
Well,  after  Actium,  in  Africa, 
He  roamed  with  no  companions  but  us  two, 
Our  friend  Aristocrates,  here,  myself, 
And  fed  upon  his  bitter  heart.     Our  guest 
Nods  truth  to  what  I  say,  he  knows  it  all. 
And  after  certain  days  in  solitude 

[3] 


BRUTUS  AND  ANTONY 

He  seeks  his  Cleopatra.     As  for  her, 
She  was  the  sovereign  queen  of  many  nations; 
Yet  that  she  might  be  with  her  Antony, 
Live  with  him  and  enjoy  him,  did  not  shun 
The  name  of  mistress,  and  let  Fulvia  keep 
Her  wifehood  without  envy.    As  for  him, 
A  lover's  soul  lives  in  the  loved  one's  body, 
And  where  bode  Cleopatra,  there  his  soul 
Lived  only,  though  his  feet  of  flesh  pursued 
The  Parthian,  or  Caesar's  hateful  heir.  .  .  . 
And  if  this  Antony  would  wreathe  his  spear 
With  ivy  like  a  thyrsus;  from  the  chamber 
Of  his  beloved  rush  to  battle,  helmet 
Smelling  of  unguents  and  of  Egypt;  leave 
Great  action  and  great  enterprise  to  play 
Along  the  seashore  of  Canopus  with  her; 
And  fly  the  combat,  not  as  Paris  did, 
Already  beaten,  with  lift  sail,  desert 
The  victory  that  was  his,  yet  true  it  is 
His  rank,  his  eloquence,  his  liberal  blood, 
His  interest  in  all  grades  and  breeds  of  men, 
His  pity  and  his  kindness  to  the  sick, 
His  generous  sympathies,  stamped  Antony 
A  giant  in  this  dusty,  roaring  place 
Which  we  call  earth.    Who  ruined  Antony? 
Why,  Brutus!     For  he  gave  to  Antony 
The  truth  of  which  the  Queen  of  Egypt  stood 
As  proof  in  the  flesh: — Beauty  and  Life.     His  heart 
Was  apt  to  see  her  for  mad  days  in  Rome, 

[4] 


BRUTUS  AND  ANTONY 

And  soul  created  sateless  for  the  cup 
Of  ecstasy  in  living. 

On  a  day 

Myself  and  Aristocrates  and  Antony, 
We  two  companioning  him  in  Africa, 
Wandering  in  solitary  places,  Antony 
Brooding  on  Actium,  and  the  love  that  kept 
His  soul  with  Cleopatra,  up  he  speaks, 
And  asks  us  if  we  knew  what  Brutus  said, 
While  nearing  death,  to  Cassius.     "No,"  we  said. 
And  Antony  began  to  tell  of  Brutus: — 
How  all  his  life  was  spent  in  study,  how 
He  starved  his  body,  slept  but  briefly,  cut 
His  hours  of  sleep  by  practice;  fixed  his  thought 
On  virtue  and  on  glory;  made  himself 
A  zealot  of  one  purpose:  liberty; 
A  spirit  as  of  a  beast  that  knows  one  thing: 
Its  food  and  how  to  get  it ;  over  its  spirit 
No  heaven  keeps  of  changing  light ;  no  stars 
Of  wandering  thought;  no  moons  that  charm 
Still  groves  by  singing  waters,  and  no  suns 
Of  large  illumination,  showing  life 
As  multiform  and  fathomless,  filled  with  wings 
Of  various  truth,  each  true  as  other  truth. 
This  was  that  Brutus,  made  an  asp  by  thought 
And  nature,  to  be  used  by  envious  hands 
And  placed  to  Caesar's  breast.    So  Antony 
Dkcoursed  upon  our  walk,  and  capped  it  off 
With  Brutus'  words  when  dying.    They  were  these 

[5] 


BRUTUS  AND  ANTONY 

"O  virtue,  miserable  virtue,  bawd  and  cheat; 
Thou  wert  a  bare  word  and  I  followed  thee 
As  if  thou  hadst  been  real.    But  even  as  evil, 
Lust,  ignorance,  thou  wert  the  plaything  too 
Of  fortune  and  of  chance." 

So  Antony 

Consoled  himself  with  Brutus,  sighed  and  lapsed 
To  silence;  thinking,  as  we  deemed,  of  life 
And  what  it  yet  could  be,  and  how  'twould  end ; 
And  how  to  join  his  Cleopatra,  what 
The  days  would  hold  amid  the  toppling  walls 
Of  Rome  in  demolition,  now  the  hand 
Of  Caesar  rotted,  and  no  longer  stayed 
The  picks  and  catapults  of  an  idiot  world! 
So,  as  it  seemed,  he  would  excuse  himself 
For  Actium  and  his  way  in  life.    For  soon 
He  speaks  again,  of  Theophrastus  now, 
Who  lived  a  hundred  years,  spent  all  his  life 
In  study  and  in  writing,  brought  to  death 
By  labor;  dying  lay  encompassed  by 
Two  thousand  followers,  disciples,  preachers 
Of  what  he  taught ;  and  dying  was  penitent 
For  glory,  even  as  Brutus  was  penitent 
For  virtue  later.     And  so  Antony 
Spoke  Theophrastus'  dying  words,  and  told 
How  Theophrastus  by  a  follower 
Asked  for  a  last  commandment,  spoke  these  words 
"There  is  none.     But  'tis  folly  to  cast  away 
Pleasure  for  glory!    And  no  love  is  worse 

[6] 


BRUTUS  AND  ANTONY 

Than  love  of  glory.     Look  upon  my  life: — 
Its  toil  and  hard  denial!    To  what  end? 
Therefore  live  happy ;  study,  if  you  must, 
For  fame  and  happiness.     Life's  vanity 
Exceeds  its  usefulness." 

So  speaking  thus 
Wise  Theophrastus  died. 

Now  I  have  said 

That  Brutus  ruined  Antony.     So  he  did, 
If  Antony  were  ruined — that's  the  question. 
For  Antony  hearing  Brutus  say,  "O  virtue, 
Miserable  virtue,  bawd  and  cheat,"  and  seeing 
The  eyes  of  Brutus  stare  in  death,  threw  over  him 
A  scarlet  mantle,  and  took  to  his  heart 
The  dying  words  of  Brutus. 

It  is  true 

That  Cicero  said  Antony  as  a  youth 
Was  odious  for  drinking-bouts,  amours, 
For  bacchanals,  luxurious  life,  and  true 
When  as  triumvir,  after  Caesar's  death, 
He  kept  the  house  of  Pompey,  where  he  lived, 
Filled  up  with  jugglers,  drunkards,  flatterers. 
All  this  before  the  death  of  Brutus,  or 
His  love  for  Cleopatra.     But  it's  true 
He  was  great  Ca?sar's  colleague.     Czesar  dead, 
This  Antony  is  chief  ruler  of  all  Rome, 
And  wars  in  Greece,  and  Asia.    So  it's  true 
He  was  not  wholly  given  to  the  cup, 

[7] 


BRUTUS  AND  ANTONY 

But  knew  fatigue  and  battle,  hunger  too, 

Living  on  roots  in  Parthia.    Yet,  you  see, 

With  Caesar  slaughtered  in  the  capitol, 

His  friend,  almost  his  god;  and  Brutus  gasping 

"O  miserable  virtue" ;  and  the  feet  of  men 

From  Syria  to  Hispania,  slipping  off 

The  world  that  broke  in  pieces,  like  an  island 

Falling  apart  beneath  a  heaving  tide — 

Whence  from  its  flocculent  fragment  wretches  leap — 

You  see  it  was  no  wonder  for  this  Antony, 

Made  what  he  was  by  nature  and  by  life, 

In  such  a  time  and  fate  of  the  drifting  world, 

To  turn  to  Cleopatra,  and  leave  war 

And  rulership  to  languish. 

Thus  it  was: 

Caesar  is  slaughtered,  Antony  must  avenge 
The  death  of  Caesar.    Brutus  is  brought  to  death, 
And  dying  scoffs  at  virtue  which  took  off 
In  Brutus'  hand  the  sovran  life  of  Caesar. 
And  soon  our  Antony  must  fight  against 
The  recreant  hordes  of  Asia,  finding  here 
His  Cleopatra  for  coadjutor.  .  .  . 
He's  forty-two  and  ripe.    She's  twenty-eight, 
Fruit  fresh  and  blushing,  most  mature  and  rich; 
Her  voice  an  instrument  of  many  strings 
That  yielded  laughter,  wisdom,  folly,  song, 
And  tales  of  many  lands,  in  Arabic, 
And  Hebrew,  Syriac  and  Parthiac. 
She  spoke  the  language  of  the  troglodytes, 

[8] 


BRUTUS  AND  ANTONY 

The  Medes  and  others.     And  when  Antony 
Sent  for  her  in  Cilicia,  she  took  time, 
Ignored  his  orders,  leisurely  at  last 
Sailed  up  the  Cydnus  in  a  barge  whose  stern 
Was  gilded,  and  with  purple  sails.     Returned 
His  dining  invitation  with  her  own, 
And  bent  his  will  to  hers.     He  went  to  her, 
And  found  a  banquet  richer  than  his  largess 
Could  give  her.     For  while  feasting,  branches  sunk 
Around  them,  budding  lights  in  squares  and  circles, 
And  lighted  up  their  heaven,  as  with  stars. 
She  found  him  broad  and  gross,  but  joined  her  taste 
To  him  in  this.    And  then  their  love  began. 
And  while  his  Fulvia  kept  his  quarrels  alive 
With  force  of  arms  in  Rome  on  Octavianus, 
And  while  the  Parthian  threatened  Syria, 
He  lets  the  Queen  of  Egypt  take  him  off 
To  Alexandria,  where  he  joins  with  her 
The  Inimitable  Livers;  and  in  holiday 
Plays  like  a  boy  and  riots,  while  great  Brutus 
Is  rotting  in  the  earth  for  Virtue's  sake; 
And  Theophrastus  for  three  hundred  years 
Has  changed  from  dust  to  grass,  and  grass  to  dust! 
And  Cleopatra's  kitchen  groans  with  food. 
Eight  boars  are  roasted  whole — though  only  twelve 
Of  these  Inimitable  Livers,  with  the  Queen 
And  Antony  are  to  eat — that  every  dish 
May  be  served  up  just  roasted  to  a  turn. 
And  who  knows  when  Marc  Antony  may  sup  ? 

[9] 


BRUTUS  AND  ANTONY 

Perhaps  this  hour,  perhaps  another  hour, 

Perhaps  this  minute  he  may  call  for  wine, 

Or  start  to  talk  with  Cleopatra;  fish — 

For  fish  they  did  together.    On  a  day 

They  fished  together,  and  his  luck  was  ill, 

And  so  he  ordered  fishermen  to  dive 

And  put  upon  his  hook  fish  caught  before. 

And  Cleopatra  feigned  to  be  deceived, 

And  shouted  out  his  luck.    Next  day  invited 

The  Inimitable  Livers  down  to  see  him  fish, 

Whereat  she  had  a  diver  fix  his  hook 

With  a  salted  fish  from  Pontus.    Antony 

Drew  up  amid  their  laughter.    Then  she  said : 

"Sweet  Antony,  leave  us  poor  sovereigns  here, 

Of  Pharos  and  Canopus,  to  the  rod ; 

Your  game  is  cities,  provinces  and  kingdoms." 

Were  Antony  serious,  or  disposed  to  mirth  ? 

She  had  some  new  delight.    She  diced  with  him, 

Drank  with  him,  hunted  with  him.    When  he  went 

To  exercise  in  arms,  she  sat  to  see. 

At  night  she  rambled  with  him  in  the  streets, 

Dressed  like  a  servant-woman,  making  mischief 

At  people's  doors.    And  Antony  disguised 

Got  scurvy  answers,  beatings  from  the  folk, 

Tormented  in  their  houses.    So  it  went 

Till  Actium.    She  loved  him,  let  him  be 

By  day  nor  night  alone,  at  every  turn 

Was  with  him  and  upon  him. 

[10] 


BRUTUS  AND  ANTONY 

Well,  this  life 

Was  neither  virtue,  glory,  fame,  nor  study, 
But  it  was  life,  and  life  that  did  not  slay 
A  Caesar  for  a  word  like  Liberty. 
And  it  was  life,  its  essence  nor  changed  nor  lost 
By  Actium,  where  his  soul  shot  forth  to  her 
As  from  a  catapult  a  stone  is  cast, 
Seeing  her  lift  her  sixty  sails  and  fly. 
His  soul  lived  in  her  body  as  'twere  born 
A  part  of  her,  and  whithersoever  she  went 
There  followed  he.    And  all  their  life  together 
Was  what  it  was,  a  rapture,  justified 
By  its  essential  honey  of  realest  blossoms, 
In  spite  of  anguished  shame.    When  hauled  aboard 
The  ship  of  Cleopatra,  he  sat  down 
And  with  his  two  hands  covered  up  his  face! 
Brutus  had  penitence  at  Philippi 
For  virtue  which  befooled  him.    Antony 
Remorse  and  terror  there  at  Actium 
Deserting  with  his  queen,  for  love  that  made 
His  body  not  his  own,  as  Brutus'  will 
Was  subject  to  the  magic  of  a  word.  .  .  . 
For  what  is  Virtue,  what  is  Love?    At  least 
We  know  their  dire  effects,  that  both  befool, 
Betray,  destroy. 

The  Queen  and  Antony 

Had  joined  the  Inimitable  Livers,  now  they  joined 
The  Diers  Together.     They  had  kept  how  oft 


BRUTUS  AND  ANTONY 

The  Festival  of  Flagons,  now  to  keep 

The  Ritual  of  Passing  Life  was  theirs. 

But  first  they  suffered  anger  with  each  other 

While  on  her  ship,  till  touching  Tenarus 

When  they  were  brought  to  speak  by  women  friends, 

At  last  to  eat  and  sleep  together.    Yet 

Poison  had  fallen  on  their  leaves,  which  stripped 

Their  greenness  to  the  stalk,  as  you  shall  see.  .  .  . 

Here  to  make  clear  what  flight  of  Antony  meant, 

For  cause  how  base  or  natural,  let  me  say 

That  Actium's  battle  had  not  been  a  loss 

To  Antony  and  his  honor,  if  Canidius, 

Commanding  under  Antony,  had  not  flown 

In  imitation  of  his  chief;  the  soldiers 

Fought  desperately  in  hope  that  Antony 

Would  come  again  and  lead  them. 

So  it  was 

He  touched,  with  Cleopatra,  Africa, 
And  sent  her  into  Egypt;  and  with  us, 
Myself  and  Aristocrates,  walked  and  brooded 
In  solitary  places,  as  I  said. 
But  when  he  came  to  Alexandria 
He  finds  his  Cleopatra  dragging  her  fleet 
Over  the  land  space  which  divides  the  sea 
Near  Egypt  from  the  Red  Sea,  so  to  float 
Her  fleet  in  the  Arabian  Gulf,  and  there, 
Somewhere  upon  earth's  other  side,  to  find 
A  home  secure  from  war  and  slavery. 

[12] 


BRUTUS  AND  ANTONY 

She  failed  in  this ;  but  Antony  leaves  the  city, 
And  leaves  his  queen,  plays  Timon,  builds  a  house 
Near  Pharos  on  a  little  mole ;  lives  here 
Until  he  hears  all  princes  and  all  kings 
Desert  him  in  the  realm  of  Rome;  which  news 
Brings  gladness  to  him,  for  hope  put  away, 
And  cares  slipped  off.    Then  leaving  Timoneum,— 
For  such  he  named  his  dwelling  there  near  Pharos — 
He  goes  to  Cleopatra,  is  received, 
And  sets  the  city  feasting  once  again. 
The  order  of  Inimitable  Livers  breaks, 
And  forms  the  Diers  Together  in  its  place. 
And  all  who  banquet  with  them,  take  the  oath 
To  die  with  Antony  and  Cleopatra, 
Observing  her  preoccupation  with 
Drugs  poisonous  and  creatures  venomous. 
And  thus  their  feast  of  flagons  and  of  love 
In  many  courses  riotously  consumed 
Awaits  the  radiate  liquor  dazzling  through 
Their  unimagined  terror,  like  the  rays 
Shot  from  the  bright  eyes  of  the  cockatrice, 
Crackling  for  poison  in  the  crystal  served 
By  fleshless  hands!    A  skeleton  steward  soon 
Will  pass  the  liquer  to  them ;  they  will  drink, 
And  leave  no  message,  no  commandment  either — 
As  Theophrastus  was  reluctant  to — 
Denied  disciples;  for  Inimitable  Livers 
Raise  up  no  followers,  create  no  faith, 
No  cult  or  sect.    Joy  has  his  special  wisdom, 

[13] 


BRUTUS  AND  ANTONY 

Which  dies  with  him  who  learned  it,  does  not  fire 
Mad  bosoms  like  your  Virtue. 

I  must  note 

The  proffered  favors,  honors  of  young  Caesar 
To  Cleopatra,  if  she'd  put  to  death 
Her  Antony;  and  Antony's  jealousy, 
Aroused  by  Thyrsus,  messenger  of  Caesar, 
Whom  Cleopatra  gave  long  audiences, 
And  special  courtesies;  seized,  whipped  at  last 
By  Antony,  sent  back  to  Caesar.    Yet 
The  queen  was  faithful.    When  her  birth-day  came 
She  kept  it  suitable  to  her  fallen  state, 
But  all  the  while  paying  her  Antony  love, 
And  honor,  kept  his  birth-day  with  such  richness 
That  guests  who  came  in  want  departed  rich.  .  .  . 

Wine,  weariness,  much  living,  early  age 

Made  fall  for  Antony.    October's  clouds 

In  man's  life,  like  October,  have  no  sun 

To  lift  the  mists  of  doubt,  distortion,  fear. 

Faces,  events,  and  wills  around  us  show 

Malformed,  or  ugly,  changed  from  what  they  were. 

And  when  his  troops  desert  him  in  the  city 

To  Caesar,  Antony  cries  out,  the  queen, 

His  Cleopatra,  has  betrayed  him.    She 

In  terror  seeks  her  monument,  sends  word 

That  she  is  dead.    And  Antony  believes 

And  says  delay  no  longer,  stabs  himself, 


BRUTUS  AND  ANTONY 

Is  hauled  up  dying  to  the  arms  of  her, 
Where  midst  her  frantic  waitings  he  expires! 
Kings  and  commanders  begged  of  Caesar  grace 
To  give  this  Antony  his  funeral  rites. 
But  Caesar  left  the  body  with  the  queen 
Who  buried  it  with  royal  pomp  and  splendor. 
Thus  died  at  fifty-six  Marc  Antony, 
And  Cleopatra  followed  him  with  poison, 
The  asp  or  hollow  bodkin,  having  lived 
To  thirty-nine,  and  reigned  with  Antony 
As  partner  in  the  empire  fourteen  years.  .  .  . 

Who  in  a  time  to  come  will  gorge  and  drink, 
Filch  treasure  that  it  may  be  spent  for  wine, 
Kill  as  Marc  Antony  did,  war  as  he  did, 
Because  Marc  Antony  did  so,  taking  him 
As  warrant  and  exemplar?    Why,  never  a  soul! 
These  things  are  done  by  souls  who  do  not  think, 
But  act  from  feeling.    But  those  mad  for  stars 
Glimpsed  in  wild  waters  or  through  mountain  mists 
Seen  ruddy  and  portentous  will  take  Brutus 
As  inspiration,  since  for  Virtue's  sake 
And  for  the  good  of  Rome  he  killed  his  friend; 
And  in  the  act  made  Liberty  as  far 
From  things  of  self,  as  murder  is  apart 
From  friendship  and  its  ways.    Yes,  Brutus  lives 
To  fire  the  mad-men  of  the  centuries 
As  Caesar  lives  to  guide  new  tyrants.    Yet 
Tyrannicide  but  snips  the  serpent's  head. 

[15] 


BRUTUS  AND  ANTONY 

The  body  of  a  rotten  state  still  writhes 

And  wriggles  though  the  head  is  gone,  or  worse, 

Festers  and  stinks  against  the  setting  sun.  .  .  . 

Marc  Antony  lived  happier  than  Brutus 
And  left  the  old  world  happier  for  his  life 
Than  Brutus  left  it. 


[16] 


AT  THE  MERMAID  TAVERN 

(April  I0tht  1613) 
(LEONARD  DIGGES  is  speaking) 

Yes,  so  I  said:  'twas  labored  "Cataline" 
Insufferable  for  learning,  tedious. 
And  so  I  said :  the  audience  was  kept 
There  at  the  Globe  twelve  years  ago  to  hear: 
"It  is  no  matter;  let  no  images 
Be  hung  with  Caesar's  trophies." 

And  to-day 

They  played  his  Julius  Caesar  at  the  Court. 
I  saw  it  at  the  Globe  twelve  years  ago, 
A  gala  day!    The  flag  over  the  Theatre 
Fluttered  the  April  breeze  and  I  was  thrilled. 
And  look  what  wherries  crossed  the  Thames  with  freight 
Of  hearts  expectant  for  the  theatre. 
For  all  the  town  was  posted  with  the  news 
Of  Shakespeare's  "Julius  Caesar."     So  we  paid 
Our  six-pence,  entered,  all  the  house  was  full. 
And  dignitaries,  favored  ones  had  seats 
Behind  the  curtain  on  the  stage.    At  last 
The  trumpet  blares,  the  curtains  part,  Marullus 

[17] 


AT  THE  MERMAID  TAVERN 

And  Flavius  enter,  scold  the  idiot  mob 
And  we  sat  ravished,  listening  to  the  close. 

We  knew  he  pondered  manuscripts,  forever 
Was  busy  with  his  work,  no  rest,  no  pause. 
Often  I  saw  him  leave  the  theatre 
And  cross  the  Thames  where  in  a  little  room 
He  opened  up  his  Plutarch.    What  was  that? 
A  fertilizing  sun,  a  morning  light 
Of  bursting  April !    What  was  he?    The  earth 
That  under  such  a  sun  put  forth  and  grew, 
Showed  all  his  valleys,  mountain  peaks  and  fields, 
Brought  forth  the  forests  of  his  cosmic  soul, 
The  coppice,  jungle,  blossoms  good  and  bad. 
A  world  of  growth,  creation!    This  the  work, 
Precedent  force  of  Thomas  North,  his  work 
In  causal  link  the  Bishop  of  Auxerre, 
And  so  it  goes. 

But  others  tried  their  hand 
At  Julius  Caesar,  witness  "Caesar's  Fall" 
Which  Drayton,  Webster,  others  wrote.    And  look 
At  Jonson's  "Cataline,"  that  labored  thing, 
Dug  out  of  Plutarch,  Cicero.    Go  read, 
Then  read  this  play  of  Shakespeare's. 

I  recall 

What  came  to  me  to  see  this,  scene  by  scene, 
Unroll  beneath  my  eyes.    'Twas  like  a  scroll 

[18] 


AT  THE  MERMAID  TAVERN 

Lettered  in  gold  and  purple  where  one  theme 

In  firmest  sequence,  precious  artistry 

Is  charactered,  and  all  the  sound  and  sense, 

And  every  clause  and  strophe  ministers 

To  one  perfection.    So  it  was  we  sat 

Until  the  scroll  lay  open  at  our  feet: 

"According  to  his  virtue,  let  us  use  him 

With  all  respect  and  rites  of  burial," 

Then  gasped  for  breath!    The  play's  a  miracle! 

This  world  has  had  one  Caesar  and  one  Shakespeare, 

And  with  their  birth  is  shrunk,  can  only  bear 

Less  vital  spirits. 

For  what  did  he  do 

There  in  that  room  with  Plutarch  ?    First  his  mind 
Was  ready  with  the  very  moulds  of  nature. 
And  then  his  spirit  blazing  like  the  sun 
Smelted  the  gold  from  Plutarch,  till  it  flowed 
Molten  and  dazzling  in  these  moulds  of  his. 
And  lo !  he  sets  up  figures  for  our  view 
That  blind  the  understanding  till  you  close 
Eyes  to  reflect,  and  by  their  closing  see 
What  has  been  done.    O,  well  I  could  go  on 
And  show  how  Jonson  makes  homonculus, 
And  Shakespeare  gets  with  child,  conceives  and  bears 
Beauty  of  flesh  and  blood.    Or  I  could  say 
Jonson  lays  scholar's  hands  upon  a  trait, 
Ambition,  let  us  say,  as  if  a  man 
Were  peak  and  nothing  else  thrust  to  the  sky 

[19] 


AT  THE  MERMAID  TAVERN 

By  blasting  fires  of  earth,  just  peak  alone, 

No  slopes,  no  valleys,  pines,  or  sunny  brooks, 

No  rivers  winding  at  the  base,  no  fields, 

No  songsters,  foxes,  nothing  but  the  peak. 

But  Shakespeare  shows  the  field-mice  and  the  cricket, 

The  louse  upon  the  leaf,  all  things  that  live 

In  every  mountain  which  his  soaring  light 

Takes  cognizance;  by  which  I  mean  to  say 

Shows  not  ambition  only,  that's  the  peak, 

But  mice-moods,  cricket  passions  in  the  man ; 

How  he  can  sing,  or  whine,  or  growl,  or  hiss, 

Be  bird,  fox,  wolf,  be  eagle  or  be  snake. 

And  so  this  "Julius  Caesar"  paints  the  mob 

That  stinks  and  howls,  a  woman  in  complaint 

Most  feminine  shut  from  her  husband's  secrets; 

Paints  envy,  paints  the  demagogue,  in  brief, 

Paints  Caesar  till  we  lose  respect  for  Caesar. 

For  there  he  stands  in  verity,  it  seems, 

A  tyrant,  coward,  braggart,  aging  man, 

A  stale  voluptuary  shoved  about 

And  stabbed  most  righteously  by  patriots 

To  avenge  the  fall  of  Rome! 

Now  I  have  said 

Enough  to  give  me  warrant  to  say  this: 
This  play  of  Shakespeare  fails,  is  an  abuse 
Upon  the. memory  of  the  greatest  man 
That  ever  trod  this  earth.    And  Shakespeare  failed 
By  just  so  much  as  he  might  have  achieved 

[20] 


AT  THE  MERMAID  TAVERN 

Surpassing  triumph  had  he  made  the  play 
Caesar  instead  of  Brutus,  had  he  shown 
A  sovereign  will  and  genius  struck  to  earth 
With  loss  irreparable  to  Time  and  ruin 
To  Caesar's  dreams;  struck  evilly  to  death 
By  a  mad  enthusiast,  a  brutal  stoic, 
In  whom  all  gratitude  was  trickul  aside 
By  just  a  word,  the  word  of  Liberty. 
Or  might  I  also  say  the  man  had  envy 
Of  Caesar's  greatness,  or  might  it  be  true 
Brutus  took  edge  for  hatred  with  the  thought 
That  Brutus'  sister  flamed  with  love  for  Caesar? 
But  who  was  Brutus,  by  the  largest  word 
That  comes  to  us  that  he  should  be  exalted, 
Forefronted  in  this  play,  and  warrant  given 
To  madmen  down  the  ages  to  repeat 
This  act  of  Brutus',  con  the  golden  words 
Of  Shakespeare  as  he  puts  them  in  his  mouth: 
"Not  that  I  loved  him  less,  but  loved  Rome  more. 
He  was  ambitious  so  I  slew  him.    Tears 
For  his  love,  joy  for  his  fortune,  honor  for  valor, 
Death  for  ambition.    Would  you  die  all  slaves 
That  Caesar  might  still  live,  or  live  free  men 
With  Cesar  dead?" 

And  so  it  is  the  echo 
Of  Crrsar's  fall  is  cried  to  by  this  voice 
Of  Shakespeare's  and  increase.  1.  t<>  travel  forth, 
To  fool  the  ages  and  to  madden  men 

[2,] 


AT  THE  MERMAID  TAVERN 

With  thunder  in  the  hills  of  time  to  deeds 
As  horrible  as  this. 


Did  Shakespeare  know 
The  worth  of  Caesar,  that  we  may  impute 
Fault  for  this  cartoon — caricature?    Why  look, 
Did  he  not  write  the  "mightiest  Julius,"  write 
"The  foremost  man  of  all  the  world,"  "the  conqueror 
Whom  death  could  conquer  not,"  make  Cleopatra, 
The  pearl  of  all  the  east,  say  she  was  glad 
That  Caesar  wore  her  on  his  hand  ?    He  knew 
What  Caesar's  greatness  was !    Yet  what  have  we  ? 
A  Caesar  with  the  falling  sickness,  deaf, 
Who  faints  upon  the  offering  of  the  crown ; 
Who  envies  Cassius  stronger  arms  in  swimming, 
When  it  is  known  that  Caesar  swam  the  Tiber, 
Being  more  than  fifty;  pompous,  superstitious, 
Boasting  his  will,  but  flagging  in  the  act ; 
Greedy  of  praise,  incautious,  unalert 
To  dangers  seen  of  all ;  a  lust  incarnate 
Of  power  and  rulership ;  a  Caesar  smashing 
A  great  republic  like  a  criminal, 
A  republic  which  had  lived  except  for  him. 

So  what  was  Rome  when  Caesar  took  control  ? 
All  wealth  and  power  concentered  in  the  few; 
A  coterie  of  the  rich  who  lived  in  splendor; 
A  working  class  that  lived  on  doles  of  corn 
And  hordes  of  slaves  from  Asia,  Africa, 

[22] 


AT  THE  MERMAID  TAVERN 

Who  plotted  murders  in  the  dark  purlieus; 

The  provinces  were  drained  to  feed  the  rich; 

The  city  ruled  by  bribery,  and  corruption  ; 

Armed  gladiators  sold  their  services. 

And  battled  in  the  Forum ;  magistrates 

Were  freely  scoffed  at,  consuls  were  attacked  ; 

And  orators  spat  in  each  other's  faces 

When  reason  failed  them  speaking  in  the  Forum; 

No  man  of  prominence  went  on  the  streets 

Without  his  hired  gladiators,  slaves. 

The  streets  were  unpoliced,  no  fire  brigade, 

Safe-guarded  property.     Domestic  life 

Was  rotten  at  the  heart,  and  vice  was  taught. 

Divorce  was  rife  and  even  holy  Cato 

Put  by  his  wife. 

And  this  was  the  republic 
That  Caesar  took ;  and  not  the  lovely  state 
Ordered  and  prospered,  which  ambitious  Caesar, 
As  Shakespeare  paints  him,  over-whelmed.    For  Caesar 
Could  execute  the  vision  that  the  people 
Deserve  not  what  they  want,  but  otherwise 
What  they  should  want,  and  in  that  mind  was  king 
And  emperor. 

And  what  was  here  for  Shakespeare 
To  love  and  manifest  by  art,  who  hated 
The  Puritan,  the  mob?    Colossus  Caesar, 
Whose  harmony  of  mind  took  deep  offense 

[23] 


AT  THE  MERMAID  TAVERN 

At  ugliness,  disharmony !    See  the  man : 

Of  body  perfect  and  of  rugged  health, 

Of  graceful  carriage,  fashion,  bold  of  eye, 

A  swordsman,  horseman,  and  a  general 

Not  less  than  Alexander;  orator 

Who  rivalled  Cicero,  a  man  of  charm, 

Of  wit  and  humor,  versed  in  books  as  well ; 

Who  at  one  time  could  dictate,  read  and  write, 

Composing  grammars  as  he  rode  to  war, 

Amid  distractions,  dangers,  battles,  writing 

Great  commentaries.    Yes,  he  is  the  man 

In  whom  was  mixed  the  elements  that  Nature 

Might  say: — this  was  a  man — and  not  this  Brutus. 

Look  at  his  camp,  wherever  pitched  in  Gaul, 
Thronged  by  young  poets,  thinkers,  scholars,  wits, 
And  headed  by  this  Caesar,  who  when  arms 
Are  resting  from  the  battle,  makes  reports 
Of  all  that's  said  and  done  to  Cicero. 
Here  is  a  man  large  minded  and  sincere, 
Active,  a  lover,  conscious  of  his  place, 
Knowing  his  power,  no  reverence  for  the  past, 
Save  what  the  past  deserved,  who  made  the  task 
What  could  be  done  and  did  it — seized  the  power 
Of  rulership  and  did  not  put  it  by 
As  Shakespeare  clothes  him  with  pretence  of  doing. 
For  what  was  kingship  to  him?  empty  name! 
He  who  had  mastered  Asia,  Africa, 
Egypt,  Hispania,  after  twenty  years 

[24] 


AT  THE  MERMAID  TAVERN 

Of  cyclic  dreams  and  labor — king  indeed! 
A  name!  when  sovereign  power  was  nothing  new. 
He's  fifty-six,  and  knows  the  human  breed, 
Sees  man  as  body  hiding  a  canal 
For  passing  food  along,  a  little  brain 
That  watches,  loves,  attends  the  said  canal. 
He's  been  imperator  at  least  two  years- 
King  in  good  sooth !    He  knows  he  is  not  valued, 
That  he's  misprized  and  hated,  is  compelled 
To  use  whom  he  distrusts,  despises  too. 
Why,  what  was  life  to  him  with  such  contempt 
Of  all  this  dirty  world,  this  eagle  set 
Amid  a  flock  of  vultures,  cow-birds,  bats? 
His  ladder  was  not  lowliness,  but  genius. 
Read  of  his  capture  in  Bithynia, 
When  he  was  just  a  stripling  by  Cilician 
Pirates  whom  he  treated  like  his  slaves, 
And  told  them  to  their  face  when  he  was  ransomed 
He'd  have  them  crucified.    He  did  it,  too. 
His  ransom  came  at  last,  he  was  released, 
And  set  to  work  at  once  to  keep  his  word  ; 
Fitted  some  ships  out,  captured  every  one 
And  crucified  them  all  at  Pergamos. 
Not  lowliness  his  ladder,  but  the  strength 
That. steps  on  shoulders,  fit  for  steps  alone. 
So  on  this  top-most  rung  he  did  not  scan 
The  base  degrees  by  which  he  did  ascend, 
But  sickened  rather  at  a  world  whose  heights 
Are  not  worth  reaching.    So  it  was  he  went 

[25] 


AT  THE  MERMAID  TAVERN 

Unarmed  and  unprotected  to  the  Senate, 
Knowing  that  death  is  noble,  being  nature, 
And  scorning  fear.    Why,  he  had  lived  enough. 
The  night  before  he  dined  with  Lepidus, 
To  whom  he  said  the  death  that  is  not  seen, 
Is  not  expected,  is  the  best.     But  look, 
Here  in  this  play  he's  shown  a  weak  old  man, 
Propped  up  with  stays  and  royal  robes,  to  amble, 
Trembling  and  babbling  to  his  coronation ; 
And  to  the  going,  driven  by  the  fear 
That  he  would  be  thought  coward  if  he  failed. 
Who  was  to  think  so?    Cassius,  whom  he  cowed, 
And  whipped  against  strong  odds,  this  Brutus,  too, 
There  at  Pharsalus!     Faith,  I'd  like  to  know 
What  Francis  Bacon  thinks  of  this. 

My  friend, 

Seeing  the  Rome  that  Caesar  took,  we  turn 
To  what  he  did  with  what  he  took.    This  Rome 
At  Caesar's  birth  was  governed  by  the  people 
In  name  alone,  in  fact  the  Senate  ruled, 
And  money  ruled  the  Senate.     Rank  and  file 
Was  made  of  peasants,  tradesmen,  manumitted 
Slaves  and  soldiers — these  the  populares, 
Who  made  our  Caesar's  uncle  Marius 
Chief  magistrate  six  times.    This  was  the  party 
That  Caesar  joined  and  wrought  for  to  the  last. 
He  fought  the  aristocracy  all  his  life. 
His  heart  was  democratic  and  his  head 

[26] 


AT  THE  MERMAID  TAVERN 

Patrician — was  ambitious  from  the  first, 

As  Shakespeare  is  ambitious,  gifted  by 

The  Muses,  must  work  out  his  vision  or  • 

Rot  down  with  gifts  neglected ;  so  this  Caesar 

Gifted  to  rule  must  rule — but  what's  the  dream? 

To  use  his  power  for  democratic  weal, 

Bring  order,  justice  in  a  rotten  state, 

And  carry  on  the  work  of  Marius, 

His  democratic  uncle.     Now  behold, 

He's  fifty  when  he  reaches  sovereign  power; 

Few  years  are  left  in  which  he  may  achieve 

His  democratic  ideas,  for  he  sought 

No  gain  in  power,  but  chance  to  do  his  work, 

Fulfill  his  genius.    Well,  he  takes  the  Senate 

And  breaks  its  aristocracy,  then  frees 

The  groaning  debtors;  reduces  the  congestion 

Of  stifled  Italy,  founds  colonies, 

Helps  agriculture,  executes  the  laws. 

Crime  skulks  before  him,  luxury  he  checks. 

The  franchise  is  enlarged,  he  codifies 

The  Roman  laws,  and  founds  a  money  system ; 

Collects  a  library,  and  takes  a  census; 

Reforms  the  calendar,  and  thus  bestrode 

The  world  with  work  accomplished.     Round  his  legs 

All  other  men  must  peer;  and  envy,  hatred 

Were  serpents  at  his  heels,  whose  poison  reached 

His  heart  at  last.     He  was  the  tower  of  Pharos, 

That  lighted  all  the  world. 

[27] 


AT  THE  MERMAID  TAVERN 

Now  who  was  Brutus? 
Caesar  forgave  this  Brutus  seven  times  seven, 
Forgave  him  for  Pharsalia,  all  his  acts 
Of  constant  opposition.    Who  was  Brutus? 
A  simple,  honest  soul?    A  heart  of  hate, 
Bred  by  his  uncle  Cato!    Was  he  gentle? 
Look  what  he  did  to  Salamis!    Besieged 
Its  senate  house  and  starved  the  senators 
To  force  compliance  with  a  loan  to  them 
At  48  per  cent !    This  is  the  man 
Whom  Shakespeare  makes  to  say  he'd  rather  be 
A  villager  than  to  report  himself 
A  son  of  Rome  under  these  hard  conditions, 
Which  Caesar  wrought!     Who  thought  or  called  them 

hard? 

Brutus  or  Shakespeare?    Is  it  Plutarch,  maybe, 
Whom  Shakespeare  follows,  all  against  the  grain 
Of  truth  so  long  revealed  ? 

Do  you  not  see 

Matter  in  plenty  for  our  Shakespeare's  hand, 
To  show  a  sovereign  genius  and  its  work 
Pursued  by  mad-dogs,  bitten  to  its  death, 
Its  plans  thrown  into  chaos?     Is  there  clay 
Wherewith  to  mould  the  face  of  Caesar ;  take 
What  clay  remains  to  mould  the  face  of  Brutus? 
Do  you  not  see  a  straining  of  the  stuff, 
Making  that  big  and  salient  which  should  be 
Little  and  hidden  in  a  group  of  figures? 
And  why,  I  ask?    Here  is  the  irony: 

[28] 


AT  THE  MERMAID  TAVERN 

Shakespeare  has  minted  Plutarch,  stamped  the  coin 
With  the  face  of  Brutus.    It's  his  inner  genius, 
The  very  flavor  of  his  genius'  flesh 
To  do  this  thing.    Here  is  a  world  that's  mad, 
A  Caesar  mad  with  power,  a  Brutus  madder, 
Being  a  dreamer,  student,  patriot 
Who  can't  see  things  as  clearly  as  the  madman 
Czesar  sees  them,  Brutus  sees  through  books. 
A  mad-man  butchered  by  a  man  more  mad. 
His  father  mad  before  him.    Why,  it's  true 
That  every  one  is  mad,  because  the  world 
Cannot  be  solved.    Why  are  we  here  and  why 
This  agony  of  being?    Why  these  tasks 
Imposed  upon  us  never  done,  which  drive 
Our  souls  to  desperation.    So  to  print 
The  tragedy  of  life,  our  Shakespeare  takes, 
And  by  the  taking  shows  he  deems  the  theme 
Greater  than  Caesar's  greatness:  human  will, 
A  dream,  a  hope,  a  love,  and  makes  them  big. 
Strains  all  the  clay  to  that  around  a  form 
Too  weak  to  hold  the  moulded  stuff  in  place. 
Thus  from  his  genius  fashioning  the  tales 
( )f  human  life  he  passes  judgment  on 
The  mystery  of  life.    Which  could  he  do 
By  making  Caesar  great,  and  would  it  be 
So  bitter  and  so  hopeless  if  he  did, 
So  adequate  to  curse  this  life  of  ours? 
Why  make  a  man  as  great  as  Nature  can 
The  gods  will  raise  a  manakin  to  kill  him, 

[29] 


AT  THE  MERMAID  TAVERN 

And  over-turn  the  order  that  he  founds. 
A  grape  seed  strangles  Sophocles,  a  turtle 
Falls  from  an  eagle's  claws  on  Aeschylos, 
And  cracks  his  shiny  pate. 

So  at  the  last 

The  question  is,  is  history  the  truth, 
Or  is  the  Shakespeare  genius,  which  arranges 
History  to  speak  the  Shakespeare  mood, 
Reaction  to  our  life,  the  truth? 

And  here 

I  leave  you  to  reflect.    Let's  one  more  ale 
And  then  I  go. 


[30] 


CHARLOTTE  CORDAY 

(The  Revolutionary  Tribunal;  July   lyth,  /7pj) 


MONTANE,  Presiding  judge. 
FOUQUIER-TINVILLE,  Prosecutor. 
CHAVEAU-LAGARDE,  Defending  counsel. 

DANTON,       )     r 

}     Leaders  of  the  Jacobins. 
ROBESPIERRE,) 

MADAM  EVARD,  Marat's  friend. 
CHARLOTTE  CORDAY. 

MONTANE 

Where  is  your  home? 

CHARLOTTE 
Caen. 

MONT 

Why  did  you  come  to  Paris? 

CHARLOTTE 
To  kill  Marat. 

MONTANE 

Why? 


CHARLOTTE  CORDAY 

CHARLOTTE 

His  crimes. 

MONTANE 

What  crimes? 

CHARLOTTE 

The  woes  of  France!     His  readiness  to  fire 
All  France  with  civil  war. 

MONTANE 
You  meant  to  kill 
When  you  struck? 

CHARLOTTE 
Yes!  I  meant  to  kill. 

MONTANE 
How  old  are  you  ? 

CHARLOTTE 
Twenty-four. 

MONTANE 

A  woman 

Young  as  you  are  could  not  have  done  this  murder 
Unless  abetted. 

CHARLOTTE 

No!    You  little  know 

The  human  heart.    The  hatred  of  one's  heart 
Impels  the  hand  better  than  other's  hate. 

[32] 


CHARLOTTE  CORDAY 

MONTANE 
You  hated  Marat? 

CHARLOTTE 

Hated!    I  did  not  kill 
A  man,  I  killed  a  wild  beast  eating  up 
The  people  and  the  nation. 

FoUQUER-TlNVILLE 

She's  familiar 
With  crime,  no  doubt. 

CHARLOTTE 

You  monster !     Do  you  take  me 
For  just  a  common  murderer? 

FoUQUER-TlNVILLE 

Yes!    Why  not? 
Here  is  your  knife! 

CHARLOTTE 

Oh !  Yes,  I  recognize  it. 
I  bought  it  at  the  cutler's  shop. 

MONTANE 

What  for? 

CHARLOTTE 

To  kill  Marat  with ;  cost  me  forty  sous. 
After  I  came  to  Paris — 

[33] 


CHARLOTTE  CORDAY 

FoUQUER-TlNVILLE 

When? 

CHARLOTTE 

Four  days  ago. 

FoUQUER-TlNVILLE 

That  was  the  day  you  wrote  Marat? 

CHARLOTTE 

Same  day. 

FoUQUER-TlNVILLE 

Saying  you  knew  of  news  in  Caen,  knew 
Means  by  the  which  Marat  could  render  service 
To  the  Republic! 

CHARLOTTE 

By  his  death ! 

FoUQUER-TlNVILLE 

But  yet 
You  gave  him  credit  in  this  note  for  love 

Of  France,  our  France.    You  tricked  him. 

CHARLOTTE 

Like   a  viper. 

He  was  a  mad-dog,  dog-leech,  alley  rat, 
With  bits  of  carrion  festering  'twixt  his  teeth, 

[34] 


CHARLOTTE  CORDAY 

Hair  ^luccl  with  ordure,  urine.    Why  not  trick 

By  best  means,  so  to  catch  a  beast  with  fangs 

As  \i-nomous  as  his?     He  was  a  fire 

That  crawled  and  licked  its  way ;  why  not  put  out 

The  fire  by  water,  snuffing,  stamping,  why 

Be  precious  of  the  means? 

MADAM  EVARD 

You  know  me,  woman? 

CHARLOTTE 
You  struck  me  when  I  stabbed  him.    You're  his  whore! 

MADAM  EVARD 
Oh!  Oh! 

ROBESPIERRE 
(To  Danton) 

This  is  enough !    When  fury  claws  at  fury. 
I  hear  the  tumbril  for  her.    Come! 

DANTON 

The  slut! 

(Danton  and  Robespierre  leave  the  room  together.) 

CHARLOTTE 
Was  that  not  Robespierre  who  left  the  room  ? 

FoUQUER-TlNVILLE 

Why  do  you  ask? 

[35] 


CHARLOTTE  CORDAY 

CHARLOTTE 
I  wanted  him  for  counsel. 

FoUQUER-TlNVILLE 

For  what?    The  guillotine? 

CHARLOTTE 
(Shrinking)  You  monster!     You! 

MONTANE 
Have  you  a  lawyer? 

CHARLOTTE 

No!     I  wrote  Doulcet. 

He  shirks  the  honor,  doubtless;  have  not  heard. 
I  thought  of  Chabot  and  of  Robespierre. 

MONTANE 
Chauveau-Lagarde  shall  counsel  you.    Proceed ! 

FoUQUER-TlNVILLE 

Is  this  your  letter  ? 

CHARLOTTE 

Yes. 

FoUQUER-TlNVILLE 

This  letter  here 

Is  written  to  a  man  named  Barbarous, 
Her  lover — 

[36] 


CHARLOTTE  CORDAY 

CHARLOTTE 

No!    You  monster! 

FoUQUER-TlNVILLE 

Very  well ! 

Is  this  yours:  "To  the  French,  friends  of  the  laws, 
And  friends  of  peace." 

CHARLOTTE 

Yes!    I  admit  what's  true. 

FoUQUER-TlNVILLE 

And  is  this  yours:  "To  the  Committee  of  Public  Safety"? 

CHARLOTTE 
I  wrote  it,  yes. 

FOUQUER-TINVILLE 

Let's  see  now  what's  her  mind. 
This  letter  to  the  friends  of  peace  and  laws: — 
"O  France,  thy  peace  depends  upon  the  laws." 
Laws !    And  she  hastens  to  the  cutler's  shop, 
And  buys  a  knife  with  which  to  slay  Marat. 
Now  look!    This  friend  of  France's  peace  and  laws 
Must  dodge  self-contradiction.     How?    That's  plain: 
"I  do  not  break  the  law,  killing  Marat." 
Why?    What's  Marat?    A  man?    Of  course,  a  man. 
But  then  an  "out-law,"  as  she  writes.     How's  that? 
Outlawed  by  whom?     Charlotte  Corday  of  Caen! 
What  else?    A  man!     But  then  condemned.     By  whom? 
"The  universe."    Voila!    The  universe 

[37] 


CHARLOTTE  CORDAY 

Is  swallowed  by  her  swollen  vanity. 

She  speaks  for  God,  for  solar  systems,  stars; 

Adjudges  laws,  interprets,  executes; 

Is  greater  than  the  Revolution,  France. 

She's  a  descendant  of  the  great  Corneille; 

A  stage  imagination,  actress,  acts, 

And  quotes  here  in  this  letter  from  Voltaire's 

"Mort  de  Cesar."    Now  listen  what  her  hate 

Has  used  for  whetrock,  in  the  words  of  Brutus: 

"Whether  the  world  astonished  loads  my  name 

"And  deed  with  horror,  admiration,  censure, 

"I  do  not  care,  nor  care  to  live  in  Time. 

"I  act  indifferent  to  reproach  or  glory, 

"A  free,  untrameled  patriot  am  I. 

"Duty  accomplished  I  shall  rest  content. 

"Think  only,  friends,  how  you  may  break  your  chains.' 
So  Brutus  lives  in  her!    And  like  disease 
Loosed  from  the  crumbling  cerements  and  dust 
Of  broken  tombs,  the  madness  which  slew  Caesar 
Infects,  makes  mad  this  woman ;  and  she  slays 
The  great  Marat! 

She  does  not  care  for  the  world's 
Censure  or  admiration !     Does  not  care 
To  live  in  time!    She  lies !    Why,  in  this  room 
A  man,  Huer,  is  sketching  her.    Behold 
He's  drawing  now  her  face  for  Time  to  see. 
And  in  this  letter  written  to  the  Committee 
She  says:  "Since  I  have  little  time  to  live, 
"1  trust  you  will  permit  me  to  have  painted 

[38] 


CHARLOTTE  CORDAY 

portrait."    Why  ?    If  careless  if  she  live 
In  memory  or  time?    The  secret's  out, 
And  written  in  her  hand :  "/  want  to  leave 
"A  picture  for  remembrance  to  my  friends." 
What  friends?    Her  father?    Barbarous?    Caen, 
Paris,  the  whole  of  France,  the  world,  if  Time 
Writes  down  the  people's  friend  as  beast,  would  see 
The  face,  in  such  case,  which  destroyed  Marat, 
Condemned  first  by  the  "universe"  and  at  last 
By   France,  the  world!     What  next?     She  doubts  her 

God, 

Her  Brutus  warrant,  "universe"  approval, 
And  writes  here  as  a  reason,  in  addition: 
"That  as  men  cherish  memory  of  good  men, 
"So  curiosity" — see  her  spirit  flop 
And  smile  with  idiot  guilt  upon  itself — 
"So  curiosity  sometimes  seeks  out 
"Memorials  of  criminals."    That's  her  word: 
"Criminals,"  and  by  that  word  she  stands 
Self-dedicated  to  the  guillotine. 

CHARLOTTE 

Well,  am  I  not  a  criminal  in  the  eyes 
Of  such  a  beast  as  you  ?    Will  nature  spawn 
No  other  beasts  like  you  ? 

FoUQUER-TlNVILLE 

Yes,  in  my  eyes, 

You  are  a  criminal.    But  you  mistake. 

[39] 


CHARLOTTE  CORDAY 

I  have  no  curiosity  about  you. 
When  you  are  dead  I'd  have  your  name  erased, 
Your  face  erased,  lest  it  corrupt  the  face 
Of  Brutus,  and  lead  hands  in  years  to  come 
To  speak  the  "universe,"  interpret  "laws," 
And  slay  whom  they  would  slay. 

This  is  not  all 

About  her  picture,  a  memorial 
For  admiration  by  posterity. 
She  writes  this  Barbarous,  lover  or  what, 
It  matters  nothing,  writes  him  pages  here 
In  detail  of  herself,  and  intimate 
Portrayal  of  her  feelings :  how  she  planned, 
And  killed  Marat.    To  Barbarous  she  writes 
About  her  letter  to  the  Committee,  asking 
To  have  her  portrait  painted.    Now,  for  whom? 
Her  friends?    Not  now!    For  the  department  now 
Of  Calvados.    There !  hanging  on  a  wall, 
A  prize  of  history,  is  the  deathless  face 
Of  Charlotte  Corday,  destroyer  of  Marat, 
Saviour  of  France,  as  Brutus  struck  for  Rome! 
Yes,  I  invite  your  thought  to  what  she  writes 
To  Barbarous:  description  of  her  act 
In  sneaking  to  Marat  with  hidden  knife; 
And  as  he  sat  there  helpless  in  the  tub, 
And  unsuspecting  of  her  hatred,  quick 
She  rips  him  like  a  butcher.    Then,  "A  moi!" 
He  cries,  "A  moi!"    And  she's  elate,  her  eyes 

[40] 


CHARLOTTE  CORDAY 

Bright  as  the  lightning  that  has  struck.    Look  now ! 
How  she  writhes  here,  how  passing  cross  her  face 
Are  lights  of  ghastly  fields  of  fire  and  clouds 
When  hurricanes  descend. 

CHARLOTTE 

You  beast!    You  beast! 

FoUQUER-TlNVILLE 

I  am  a  beast,  eh ?    You  are  what?    I'll  tell. 

From  Caen,  as  'tis  known.    She's  being  sketched, 

I'll  sketch  her  too.    You  see,  she's  strongly  built, 

Large  eyes  of  blue,  large  features,  handsome  though ; 

Nose  shapely,  and  good  teeth ;  equipped  to  play 

In  dramas  of  Corneille,  her  ancestor. 

She  needs  a  man.    A  husband  would  have  drawn 

Innocuously  the  electric  passion,  which 

Collected  in  a  bolt  to  loose  and  lurch 

Against  Marat.    All  women  should  be  farmed. 

She  has  her  schooling  in  a  convent,  reads; 

Lives  with  her  thoughts  and  dreams.    I'll  sketch  her  soul 

Has  not  enough  of  living  to  consume 

The  forces  of  her  dreams.    She  reads  Rousseau, 

And  Plutarch's  heroes,  Brutus  most  of  all. 

Thrills  at  the  words  "Republic,"  "Liberty." 

Thinks  the  Girondists  only  can  set  up 

A  real  republic.     Ideas  are  the  stuff 

Of  history.     Kill  ideas  or  be  killed 

By  ideas  is  the  fate  of  man.    Republic, 


CHARLOTTE  CORDAY 

Liberty,  Brutus  are  ideas.    Ideas 

Are  dangerous,  being  truths,  more  so  as  lies. 

And  lies  destroyed  Marat. 

Who  was  Marat? 

A  man  of  study,  learning.    Physicist, 
Admired  of  Franklin,  Goethe  for  his  works 
On  heat  and  light;  a  doctor,  having  won 
An  honorary  title  at  St.  Andrew's 
In  England.    Linguist,  speaking  Spanish,  German, 
Italian,  English.     Versed  in  Governments: — 
You  know  his  work  on  England's  constitution 
Whereby  he  sought  to  clear  the  mind  of  France — 
This  Charlotte  Corday's  with  the  rest — that  England 
Is  free,  her  systems  free;  stop  the  Girondists 
From  that  re-iterated  lie ;  stop  France 
From  taking  on  the  English  system. 

So 

True  ideas  of  Marat,  evolved  from  life, 
Living  and  study  must  combat,  destroy 
False  ideas  of  Girondists,  will  succeed ; 
But  cannot  bar  the  door  to  the  idea 
That  enters  at  his  bathroom  with  a  knife. 
How  was  it  that  no  valet  and  no  guard 
Preserved  him?     Why?     Lovers  of  liberty 
Starve  in  her  service ! 

But  there  was  a  time 
When  he  knew  elegance  and  privacy. 

[42] 


CHARLOTTE  CORDAY 

But  Liberty  and  Wisdom  would  be  served. 
He  went  to  rags,  was  hunted,  had  to  hide 
In  sewers  for  the  cause  of  Liberty ; 
And  there  took  loathsome  trouble,  eased  at  times 
By  steam,  hot  tubs.     And  thus  our  people's  friend 
Is  found  accessible  to  this  female  lie, 
Girondist  lie,  possessing  her,  and  stabbed. 
Or  at  the  best  ideas  of  Liberty 
Conduct  her  to  his  bath-room,  where  Marat 
Is  tubbed  in  sequence  and  in  punishment 
Of  his  idea  of  Liberty.     Gods  can  laugh, 
But  men  must  weep.     O  worthless,  rotten  world! 
It  is  most  pitiful,  most  tragic,  lifts 
Man's  heart  to  spit  at  heaven,  that  these  friends 
Of  peoples  must  be  slain,  starved,  hunted  first, 
Then  butchered  for  their  service  and  their  love. 
Saved  not  by  truth ;  destroyed  by  lies,  a  lie 
That  he  was  evil,  by  the  maniac  lie 
Of  her  mad  vision  that  she  knew  what  Freedom, 
Liberty,  Republic  mean.     Slain  by  the  lie 
Of  this  Girondist  dream,  this  milk  and  water, 
Emasculated,  luke-warm  craft  of  states: 
Girondists:  patches  on  the  robes  of  kings; 
Girondists:  autogamists;  mating  sisters, 
The  past,  and  in  the  mating  without  child 
Of  truth  or  progress.     Neither  hot  nor  cold, 
Spewed,  therefore,  from  the  mouth  of  Time.     Betrayers, 
Wa\  layers  of  the  brave,  the  clear  of  eye; 
Girondists:  'twixt  republicans  and  kings, 

[43  J 


CHARLOTTE  CORDAY 

And  holding  hands  of  each  to  make  them  friends. 
Workers  and  owners  of  the  new  foaled  mule 
Bred  of  the  royal  stallion  and  an  ass. 
•Girondists!    loving  wealth  and  ease,  the  church 
Which  loves  them  too.     Girondists  picking  steps 
Of  moderate  reform.     Girondists  hating 
The  Revolution,  which  must  kill  the  foes 
Of  Liberty,  as  criminals  are  killed 
For  robbery,  yet  rejoice  to  see  the  blood 
Of  dead  Marat.     They're  lof ty !     They  are  pure  ! 
They  love  the  laws,  love  peace !    Yes,  as  this  woman 
Loves  law  and  peace. 

What  is  it  like?     A  play 
Where  all  is  mimicked.     Do  we  talk  of  facts? 
Are  these  not  fautocinni  ?     Where's  the  hand 
That  plays  this  coarse  and  bloody  joke  to  eyes 
Of  men  that  crave  reality?     I  mean  this: 
A  woman  with  lovers  who  suggest,  abet; 
A  woman  with  no  man,  who  dreams  and  reads, 
Lives  in  the  stench  of  these  Girondist  lies; 
Ghosts  float  on  fogs  of  her  miasmic  soul. 
She  hears  Marat's  a  monster,  dabbling  blood, 
A  rabid  ignoramus  running  foul 
Of  liberty  and  order,  nihilist, 
And  sanguinary  madman,  dragon  slimed 
In  back-wash  of  all  hatred,  envy,  lust 
Of  the  dispossessed,  malformed,  misborn ;  and  then 
She  dreams  of  Brutus,  who  struck  down — there  now 

[44] 


CHARLOTTE  CORDAY 

I  nail  a  lie  that  will  be  always  truth 

To  Charlotte  Cordays.     Ca?sar!     Tyrant?     No. 

No  man  is  tyrant  who  sees  truth  and  rules 

For  truth's  sake.     For  the  ruled  must  share  the  truth 

Where  Caesars  rule. 

So  much  for  her.     She  stands 
Watchful  and  envious  in  the  wings,  and  sees 
Marat,  not  as  we  see  him;  not  as  Time 
Will  see  Marat.     L'Ami  du  Peuple  to  her 
Is  enemy  of  France,  of  Liberty. 
This  man  most  rare,  most  pure  of  soul,  most  clear 
Of  vision  that  the  contest  lies  between 
The  rich  and  poor,  has  always  lain  between 
The  rich  and  poor,  and  not  between  the  people 
And  kings;  that  poverty's  the  thing,  is  seen 
By  Charlotte  Corday  from  the  wings,  as  nothing 
But  hatred,  murder. 

Well,  my  girl,  you'll  get 
Your  picture  in  the  galleries  of  history. 
You'll  get  it;  and  to  choke  you  with  your  words: 
"So  curiosity  would  have  memorials 
"Of  criminals,  which  serve  to  keep  alive 
"Horror  for  their  crimes." 

Your  picture's  up 

Already.     Horror  stares!     You  killed  Marat. 
That  is  your  place  in  Time:    you  killed  Marat! 

[45] 


CHARLOTTE  CORDAY 

You  sneaked  upon  a  great  man,  true  man,  weak 
From  torture  of  disease,  contracted  serving 
Democracy,  and  slew  him  like  a  beast. 
Charlotte  Corday,  assassin !     That's  your  place, 
And  character  in  history. 

CHARLOTTE 

Let  it  be. 

Assassin.     Well,  assassins  kill  assassins: 
The  words  repel,  destroy  each  other,  sir. 
If  any  grieve  for  me  I  beg  of  them 
To  think  of  me  in  the  Elysian  Fields 
With  Brutus  and  the  heroes. 

CHAVEAU-LAGARDE 

Gentlemen ! 

The  deed's  admitted.    What  to  say,  but  ask 
Your  clemency  ?     The  girl's  fanatical. 
The  prosecutor  argues  well  for  me 
In  saying  that  a  lie  corrupted  her, 
And  maddened  her  to  act ;  which  is  to  say 
If  that  lie  were  a  truth,  she  had  the  right 
To  slay  Marat.     With  this  regard  Voltaire, 
Great  minds  before  him,  painted  Brutus  great 
Because  he  slew  a  tyrant.     But  if  Caesar 
Was  not  a  tyrant,  how  does  Brutus  stand 
But  mad-man  who  believed,  was  honest,  slew 
In  honesty  of  heart?     Then  what's  the  case? 
To  punish  for  ill-judging  of  the  facts, 

[46] 


CHARLOTTE  CORDAY 

Or  mercy  show  for  human  frailty 

Of  judgment  and  of  vision?     Great  Marat 

Has  done  his  work,  and  left  his  legacy. 

We  cannot  help  him,  meting  death  for  death. 

And  would  his  noble  spirit  ask  her  death? 

Think  of  it!    You  will  answer  no,  I  think. 

He  would  say :  kill  the  ideas  of  Caen, 

The  world  which  fires  these  Charlottes  with  a  lie. 

Smallpox  is  deadly  as  a  butcher  knife, 

He  had  to  die.     The  syllabus  is  death 

In  this  our  human  logic:  what's  the  odds 

What  premises  produce  conclusions?     Knives, 

Consumptions,  fevers,  wars?     We  may  be  gods 

Withholding  death  where  we  have  power  to  kill ; 

Withhold  it  saying:    She  mistook,  believed 

A  lie,  was  faultless  for  believing  it, 

And  slew  believing.     Were  it  truth  and  all 

Believed  we  would  applaud,  as  nations  war, 

Bound  in  a  common  vision  of  one  truth. 

The  Revolution,  France,  will  lose  not,  rather 

Gain  by  this  clemency ;    'twill  lift  a  light, 

First  in  the  world,  of  reason,  justice  purged 

Of  hatred's  refuse:    vengeance,  fear,  all  passions 

Of  bitterness  of  soul.     We  worship  Reason, 

And  this  is  Reason. 

CHARLOTTE 

You  have  done  your  part 
And  served  me  well.     I  thank  you. 

[47] 


CHARLOTTE  CORDAY 

THE  JURY 

Let  her  join 

Brutus  in  the  Elysian  Fields.     We  say: 
The  guillotine! 

THE  MOB 
(  Outside}     To  the  guillotine !     To  the  guillotine  ! 

CHARLOTTE 
I  am  content. 


[48] 


A  MAN  CHILD  IS  BORN 

(February  12th,  1809.    Log  Hut  near  Hodgenville,  Ky.) 
(A  neighbor  woman  is  talking) 

The  wind  blows  through  the  chinks — it's  snowing  too, 
Tom  piles  the  logs  on,  but  that  door  is  loose. 
An  earthen  floor  is  always  cold.     You're  warm. 
I'm  glad  I  brought  a  kiverlid  along, 
An  extra  one  comes  handy  at  this  time. 
You  are  all  right — you  had  an  easy  time, 
Considering  this  baby,  big  and  long. 
He's  very  long,  will  be  a  tall  man,  too, 
A  hunter  and  a  chopper,  Indian  fighter, 
Lord,  who  knows  what,  a  big  man  in  the  country, 
A  preacher,  congressman  or  senator, 
A  president — who  knows?     God  blesses  you 
To  give  you  such  a  son.     He  nurses  well. 
Don't  let  him  have  too  much  at  first.     You  see 
That  single  window  gives  too  little  light 
To  show  you  what  he's  like.     He  looks  a  little 
Like  Nancy  Shipley  Hanks,  your  mother,  perhaps 
A  little  like  your  aunt,  old  Mary  Lincoln. 
Since  you  and  Tom  are  cousins,  it  may  be 

[401 


A  MAN  CHILD  IS  BORN 

This  boy  will  be  a  mixture,  but  if  folks 
Resemble  animals,  the  traits  of  you 
Will  be  made  stronger  in  this  child,  because 
You  two  are  cousins. 

You  will  be  up  to  see 
What  he  looks  like,  in  just  a  week  or  so. 
Perhaps  when  next  the  flames  mount  in  the  fire-place 
The  light  will  show  you.     Have  you  named  him  yet — 
Tom  likes  the  name  of  Abraham — well,  that's  good — 
You've  chosen  that! 

I  thought  I  heard  a  step — 

Who  do  you  think  is  coming?     Dennis  Hanks! 
He's  come  to  see  his  cousin  Abraham. 

Good  mornin',  Dennis!  come  into  the  fire — 
I'll  let  you  see  your  cousin  Abraham — 
A  big,  long  baby — quick!  and  shut  the  door, 
The  room  is  none  too  warm,  the  wind  is  blowing — 
Tom's  gone  for  logs  again!     Here,  I'll  raise  up 
The  kiverlid  and  let  you  see — look  here ! 
You  think  he's  homely!     Pretty  is,  you  know, 
As  pretty  does — but  see  how  big  and  long! 
In  fifteen  years  he'll  make  you  up  and  come 
To  beat  him  wrestling,  I  will  bet  a  coon's  skin. 
Now  you  may  kiss  him ;  in  a  little  bit 
I'll  let  you  hold  him  by  the  fire.     The  pot 
Is  on  for  dinner,  we  are  having  squirrel 

[50] 


A  MAN  CHILD  IS  BORN 

And  hominy  for  dinner — you  can  stay. 
Now  clear  out,  Dennis — I  must  do  some  things — 
Open  the  door  for  Tom,  he's  coming  there 
With  logs  to  mend  the  fire! 


[SO 


RICHARD  BOOTH  TO  HIS  SON  JUNIUS 
BRUTUS 

(London,  December  ijth,  i8ij.) 

So  you're  to  play  Campillo,  all  in  spite 

Of  my  commands,  at  Deptford?     Here's  the  bill 

Found  in  your  pocket.    You  are  seventeen, 

Too  young  for  this  adventure  in  the  world. 

What  will  you  be,  a  strolling  vagabond, 

Smelling  of  grease,  impoverished,  set  apart 

From  stable  folk  by  this,  your  wandering  art? 

And  just  to  think  I  named  you  Junius  Brutus, 

After  the  great  republican  who  slew 

The  Roman  tyrant  Caesar — I  myself 

A  worshipper  of  Liberty  all  my  life, 

And  choosing  such  a  patronym  for  you 

To  dedicate  you  to  the  faith  in  me. 

Now  you  would  leave  this  dignity  to  speak 

Mimetic  words,  and  act.     I  beg  of  you, 

Listen,  my  boy,  before  it  is  too  late, 

And  let  me  tell  my  story  to  you  now, 

That  you  may  profit  by  the  things  I've  lived.  .  .  . 

You  see  that  face  of  Washington,  hung  up 
There  on  the  wall  where  every  entering  eye 

[52] 


RICHARD  BOOTH  TO  HIS  SON 

Must  mark  it  ?     You  remember  that  I  ask, 
Enforce  respect  to  Washington  and  make 
The  passer  bow  his  head — well,  listen  now: 

It's  seventeen  seventy-seven,  I'm  fourteen. 
Burgoyne's  surrender  fires  my  tender  heart. 
We  hear  Lord  George  Germain  forgets  to  take 
A  letter  from  a  pigeon  hole  containing 
Instructions  to  Burgoyne  that  touches  on 
The  campaign  on  the  Hudson.     Anyway, 
Burgoyne  gets  tangled  in  the  wilderness 
Around  Champlain.     He  faces  broken  bridges, 
And  trees  felled  in  his  way.     His  horses  fail, 
Provisions  are  exhausted.     Then  he  sends 
A  thousand  men  to  Bennington  to  get 
More  horses  and  provisions.     There  he's  stumped: 
A  veteran  of  Bunker  Hill  is  there, 
A  Colonel  Stark,  whose  wife  is  Mollie  Stark, 
Who  says  we  beat  the  British  here  to-day, 
Or  Mollie  Stark's  a  widow.     August  i6th 
They  whipped  the  British  soundly — and  Burgoyne 
Was  driven  to  defeat. 

That  made  us  flame! 
I  was  a  hot  republican.     Slipped  away 
To  Paris  with  a  cousin  to  set  sail 
For  America  and  help  the  Americans, 
And  wrote  from  there  a  letter  to  John  \Vilkes, 
And  asked  his  help  to  get  me  ''n  the  army 

[53] 


RICHARD  BOOTH  TO  HIS  SON 

Of  Washington.     As  Englishmen,  I  wrote, 

It  may  be  said  we  are  not  justified 

In  taking  arms  against  the  English  cause. 

That  argument  with  you  could  have  no  weight, 

You,  who  have  fought  for  Liberty  so  long. 

And  England,  what  is  she  ?     All  human  rights 

Are  lost  in  England  under  tyrant  rule. 

It  is  the  duty  of  an  English  heart 

To  help  those  whom  this  lawless  tyranny 

Oppresses  in  America.     So  I  wrote, 

And  sent  to  London.     What  do  you  suppose? 

John  Wilkes  went  to  my  father  with  this  letter. 

They  caught  me,  brought  me  home,  and  here  I  am, 

A  lawyer  to  this  day.     You  think  it  strange! 

Who  was  John  Wilkes,  that  he  should  thus  betray  ?- 

I  wonder,  even  now. 

For  he  had  been 

A  rebel  spirit  from  his  boyhood  up, 
Born  here  in  London  seventeen  twenty-seven; 
Was  sent  to  Parliament  when  he  was  thirty. 
Attacked  the  king  in  writing,  was  arrested; 
Refused  to  answer  questions,  then  they  chucked 
Our  rebel  in  the  Tower ;  he  got  out, 
Saying  he  had  a  privilege  as  a  member 
Of  Parliament.     They  passed  a  special  law 
To  warrant  prosecution,  ousted  him 
From  Parliament,  and  then  he  went  to  France, 
Was  outlawed,  but  returned,  again  was  sent 

[54] 


RICHARD  BOOTH  TO  HIS  SON 

To  Parliament,  before  he  took  his  seat. 
Was  sent  to  prison  on  the  sentences 
Passed  on  the  old  conviction,  and  expelled 
From  Parliament  again  for  libeling 
The  minister  of  war.     Three  times  again 
They  elected  him  to  Parliament,  but  they  kept 
Our  rebel  out.     He  now  became  the  people's 
Idol  for  his  sufferings  and  his  courage. 
They  let  him  out  of  prison,  made  him  mayor 
Of  London,  and  in  seventeen  seventy-four 
He  goes  from  Middlesex  to  Parliament 
And  takes  his  seat  at  last,  and  there  he  was 
When  I  wrote  to  him,  seventeen  seventy  seven. 
Why  did  he  tell  my  father,  send  my  father 
The  letter  which  I  wrote? 

I  know,  I  think: 

He  knew  the  dangers,  agonies  ahead, 
For  a  boy  who  sets  his  feet  along  the  path 
Of  Liberty  and  working  for  the  world 
To  free  the  world — and  did  not  know  my  stuff; 
Whether  I  had  the  will  to  fight  and  die 
With  no  regrets.     He  knew  what  he  had  suffered, 
And  had  a  tenderness  for  the  youth  who  flames 
And  beats  his  wings  for  freedom,  would  release 
From  tyranny  and  wrong. 

And  so  they  caught  me, 
And  brought  me  home  and  set  me  to  the  law. 

[55] 


RICHARD  BOOTH  TO  HIS  SON 

And  here  I  am,  who  never  lost  the  dream 

And  named  you  Junius  Brutus.     Oh,  my  son, 

Leave  off  this  actor  calling,  stay  with  me, 

I  who  was  nipped  would  see  you  grow  to  flower, 

Fulfill  my  vision.     What,  you  promise  me, 

If  I  will  let  you  act  this  time,  to  come 

And  let  me  mould  you,  teach  you  what  I  know, 

Fill  full  your  spirit  with  the  hope  I  had, 

That  you  may  do  what  I  have  failed  to  do? 

You  promise  that?     Well,  Junius  Brutus,  go 

And  may  you  fail  at  acting  and  return. 


[56] 


A  MAN  CHILD  IS  BORN 

(July  1 4th,  1839.     The  Farm.) 

(Mrs.  Booth  is  speaking.) 

After  such  pain  this  child  against  my  breast! 
Oh  what  a  cunning  head  and  little  face! 
What  coal  black  hair !     You  have  begun  to  feed ! 
Look,  doctor,  how  he  feeds — why  look  at  him, 
He  is  a  little  man !     Is  not  God  good 
To  give  me  such  a  baby?    Well,  I  think 
You  will  be  something  noble  in  this  world, 
And  something  great,  you  precious  little  man ! 
His  daddy  wants  to  name  him  John  Wilkes.     I 
Would  name  him  Junius  Brutus  to  hand  down 
His  father's  glory  and  perhaps  his  art. 
Look,  doctor,  is  it  not  a  miracle 
That  God  performs,  this  little  life  from  mine, 
This  beauty  out  of  love!     I  pray  to  God 
To  bless  you,  little  John,  if  that's  your  name. 
A  colored  mammy  read  the  coffee  grounds, 
And  says  he  will  be  famous,  rich  and  great — 
He  may  be  so.     I  know  he  will  be  good. 
Look  at  that  darling  face — it  must  be  so! 

[57] 


SQUIRE  BOWLING  GREEN 

(Rutledges  Tavern,  New  Salem,  July  14th,   1839.) 

You  missed  it — case  all  over !     Lincoln's  gone. 
He's  just  had  time  about  to  reach  the  mill. 
He  couldn't  wait  until  the  stage  arrived. 
Had  business  in  the  courts  of  Springfield — well, 
You  can  believe  he  has  become  a  lawyer. 
He  borrowed  Mentor  Graham's  horse  to  ride. 
John  Yoakum  is  in  Springfield  and  to-morrow 
Will  bring  it  back. 

Who  won  the  case?    Why,  Abe. 
He  won  it  by  his  horse-sense  and  his  wit. 
You  must  have  met  the  jury  down  the  road. 
What  were  they  laughing  at?     About  the  case. 
We  started  yesterday  on  the  evidence 
And  finished  up  this  morning.     An  appeal? 
The  verdict  satisfies  both  parties,  and 
My  judgment  stands. 

Abe  is  a  natural  lawyer, 

Knows  things  that  can't  be  found  in  books,  although 
He  knows  the  books.     And  why  not?     You  recall 
When  he  was  boarding  with  me  how  he  studied? 

[58] 


SQUIRE  BOWLING  GREEN 

It's  just  four  years  ago  or  so,  that  he 

Came    home    one    night    with    Blackstone.     Well,    I've 

noticed 

A  man  attracts  what's  his,  just  like  a  magnet 
Draws  bits  of  steel.     You  can't  make  me  believe 
That  Blackstone  came  to  him  unless  'twas  meant 
That  he  should  be  a  lawyer.     Don't  you  know? 
He  read  this  Blackstone  in  his  store  all  day 
And  half  the  night  as  well.     He  said  to  me 
Not  Volney's  "Ruins,"  Shakespeare,  Burns,  had  taken 
His  interest  like  this  Blackstone.     Yes,  he  took  it 
When  he  went  fishing  with  Jack  Kelso,  read, 
And  let  Jack  row  the  boat  and  bait  the  hooks.  .  .  . 

I  think  he  knows  this  Blackstone  all  by  heart. 
But  anyway,  he  knows  the  human  heart. 
Well,  now  here  is  the  case:  Here  is  a  colt. 
George  Cameron  says  the  colt  is  his — John  Spears 
Says  no,  the  colt  is  mine,  and  Cameron  sues, 
And  Spears  defends,  and  sixty  witnesses 
Come  here  to  testify,  on  my  word  it's  true, 
On  my  judicial  oath  it  is  the  fact. 
The  thirty  swear  the  colt  is  Cameron's; 
And  thirty  swear  the  colt  belongs  to  Spears; 
And  not  a  man  impeached,  these  witnesses 
Are  everyone  good  men,  and  most  of  them 
I  know  as  I  know  you.     Well,  what's  to  do? 
The  scales  are  balanced.     And  besides  all  this, 
Here's  Cameron  who  swears  the  colt  is  his, 

[59] 


SQUIRE  BOWLING  GREEN 

And  Spears  who  swears  the  opposite,  and  both 

Are  credible,  I  know  them  both.     So  I 

Sit  like  a  fellow  trying  to  decide 

What  happens  when  a  thing  impenetrable 

Is  struck  by  something  irresistible — 

I'm  stumped,  that's  all. 

You  see  the  facts  were  these : 
Each  of  these  fellows  owns  a  mare,  the  mares 
Look  pretty  much  alike,  each  had  a  colt 
In  April.     But  the  other  day  one  colt — 
Which  colt,  that  is  the  question — strayed  away 
And  can't  be  found.     George  Cameron  has  a  colt — 
These  men  are  neighbors — but  John  Spears  comes  over 
And  sees  the  colt  at  Cameron's  in  the  field; 
And  says,  "That  is  my  colt."     "Not  on  your  life," 
George  Cameron  replies,  "The  colt  is  mine — 
Your  colt  has  strayed,  not  mine."    They  come  to  law. 
John  Spears  gets  Lincoln,  and  they  come  to  court 
With  sixty  witnesses;  and  here  this  noon 
With  all  the  evidence  put  in,  I  sit 
And  eye  the  jury,  know  the  jury's  stumped, 
As  I  am  stumped. 

Then  Lincoln  says:  "Your  honor, 
Let's  have  a  trial  on  view."     I'd  heard  of  that, 
But  never  sat  on  such  a  trial  before. 
"Let's  bring  the  colt,  the  two  mares  over  here, 

[60] 


SQUIRE  BOWLING  GREEN 

And  let  the  jury  see  which  mare  the  colt 
Resembles,  let  the  jury  use  their  eyes 
As  witnesses  use  theirs." 

That  seemed   fair. 

And  so  we  sent  one  fellow  for  the  mares, 
Another  for  the  colt.     For  Lincoln  said : 
"Your  honor,  bring  them  separate,  so  the  jury 
Can  have  the  sudden  flash  of  seeing  them 
Separate,  to  study  them." 

For  an  hour 

Abe  sat  here  in  the  shade  and  told  us  stories. 
And  pretty  soon  we  heard  the  horses  whinney, 
And  heard  the  colt.     And   Lincoln  said,   "Your  honor, 
Let's  have  the  mares  led  past  the  jury,  trotting, 
Let's  see  their  pace."     And  so  they  trotted  them. 
"Now  trot  the  colt,"  said  Lincoln — we  did  that. 
The  jury  watched  to  see  the  look  of  legs, 
And  movement,  if  you  please,  to  catch  a  likeness. 
But  nothing  came  of  this.     Then  Lincoln  said : 
"Now  turn  the  colt  loose" — and  they  turned  it  loose. 
It  galloped  to  the  mare  of  Spears  and  sucked ! 
Well,  now  it's  true  a  colt's  a  silly  thing, 
And  may  mistake  its  mother,  but  a  mare 
Will  never  let  a  colt  that's  not  her  own 
Put  under  flanks  its  nose.    Of  course  the  jury, 
And  all  of  us  know  that — and  so  did  Abe. 

[61] 


SQUIRE  BOWLING  GREEN 

The  jury  yelled  and  all  the  witnesses 
Began  to  whoop.     And  when  I  rapped  for  order 
And  got  things  quiet — Lincoln  rose  and  said, 
"I  rest,  your  honor." 

So  I  entered  judgment 

For  Spears.     They  went  to  Berry's  for  the  drinks — 
There!  hear  them  laughing. 

Lincoln  took  his  fee, 
Ten  dollars,  I  believe,  and  went  to  Springfield. 


[62] 


LINCOLN  SPEAKING  IN  CONGRESS 

(January  1 2th,  1848.) 

"Any  people  anywhere  being  inclined  and  having  the 
power  have  the  right  to  rise  up  and  shake  off  the  existing 
government  and  form  a  new  one  that  suits  them  better. 
This  is  a  most  valuable,  a  sacred  right.  A  right  which 
we  hope  and  believe  is  to  liberate  the  world.  Nor  is  this 
right  confined  to  cases  in  which  the  whole  people  of  an 
existing  government  may  choose  to  exercise  it.  Any  por 
tion  of  such  people  that  can,  may  revolutionize,  and  may 
make  their  own  of  so  much  of  the  territory  as  they  in 
habit.  More  than  this,  a  majority  of  any  portion  of  such 
people  may  revolutionize,  putting  down  a  minority,  inter 
mingled  with,  or  near  about  them,  who  may  oppose  their 
movement.  Such  minority  was  precisely  the  case  of  the 
Tories  of  our  own  revolution.  It  is  a  quality  of  revolu 
tions  not  to  go  by  old  lines,  or  old  laws,  but  to  break  up 
both  and  make  new  ones." 


[63] 


JOHN  WILKES  BOOTH  AT  THE  FARM 
(January  I2th,  1848.) 

Mother,  I'm  breathless!     I  have  seen  a  man, 

The  strangest  man  I  ever  saw.     I'm  scared! 

I  went  down  to  the  hollow,  was  at  play, 

Was  marching  with  my  broomstick  gun — and  then 

While  I  stood  there  and  said  "attention,"  playing 

Soldier,  you  know,  reciting  to  my  soldiers, 

I  heard  a  voice — looked  round  and  saw  this  man. 

He  was  enormous  with  a  frightful  face, 

Black  eyes,  black  hair,  a  voice  that  sounded  like 

Low  thunder,  though  it  could  be  soft  and  sweet. 

And  he  said  to  me,  "What's  your  name,  my  boy?" 

I  told  him.     Then  he  said,  "Where  is  your  father?" 

I  said,  "My  father's  gone."     "Where  is  your  mother?" 

"Up  at  the  house,"  I  answered.    Then  he  asked, 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"    "Why,  playing  soldier." 

"Are  you  a  patriot?"     And  I  said  yes. 

"Oh,  no,"  he  said,  "your  father  was  an  actor; 

I  saw  him  play  the  part  of  Brutus  often, 

And  you  will  be  an  actor,  you've  the  look." 

How  did  he  know  these  things,  do  you  suppose? 

And  then  he  said,  "Recite  for  me."    "I  can't," 

I  said  to  him.    "O  yes,  you  can,"  he  said. 

[64] 


JOHN  WILKES  BOOTH  AT  THE  FARM 

"You  must  recite  for  me."     And  I  was  scared, 
Began  to  cry,  and  he  said,  "Hush,  my  boy, 
I  will  not  hurt  you,  but  you  must  recite, 
I  want  to  see  what  you  have  memorized." 
So  I  was  choking,  but  I  tried  to  do  it : 
"The  tyrannous  and  bloody  deed  is  done, 
The  most  arch  act  of  piteous  massacre 
That  ever  yet  this  land  was  guilty  of."  .  .  . 

"No  Richard  III,"  he  said.     "Here  look  at  me! 

Why  do  you  dodge  ?     Why  not  recite  some  words 

From  Brutus,  for  you  know  them,  why,  my  boy? 

You've  heard  your  father  speak  the  words  of  Brutus, 

Why  do  you  hide  your  knowledge?     Look  at  me!" 

He  terrified  me  so  that  I  began : 

"It  must  be  by  his  death :  and  for  my  part 

I  know  no  personal  cause  to  spurn  at  him, 

But  for  the  general.     He  would  be  crowned: 

How  that  might  change  his  nature,  there's  the  question. 

It  is  the  bright  day  that  brings  forth  the  adder." 

I  got  so  far  and  saw  him  looking  down, 

As  if  he  saw — I  don't  know  what — and  then 

I  stopped  and  looked — and  there  I  saw  an  adder 

Coiled    close    to    me.     I    jumped    and    screamed.     He 

laughed — 

I  ran  away,  and  left  him  standing  there. 
Mother,  I  am  afraid.     Who  was  this  man? 
My  head  hurts.     I'm  afraid.     Keep  close  to  me — 
I  am  so  frightened. 

[6s] 


JUNK'S  RRUTUS  BOOTH 

(On    a    steamboat    bound    for    Cincinnati    from    New 
Orleans,  November  >j.) 

You  arc  a  doctor?     111?     I'm  \er\  ill. 

M\    M  \:\   II  from,  it  is  a  izhastly  life. 

This  acting,  tr.uelini:.  lixiiiv;  through  the  p.issions 

Of  Brutus,  ami  Orestes,  Richard  111. 

M\    father  tried  to  make  a  lauxer  of  me. 

But  fate  is  fate.      My  a*;e  is  fift\-si\. 

But  counting:  by  the  moments  I  have  lived 

A  thousand  years  were  nearer  truth.     Oh.  well. 

What  if  this  talking  tire  me,  I  am  tired 

With  such  fatigue  that  nothing  adds  to  it. 

And  if  1  die.  why  \\hat  will  he.  \\ill  he. 

I'd  like  to  see  "The  Farm"  in  Man  land 

Just  once  again,  see  Mary,  that's  my  wife, 

John  Wilkes.  my  hoy.  and  Junius  Hrutus,  too — 

Kdwin  1  left  in  California, 

Shall  never  see  him  more  I  fear — hut  then 

What  comes  to  us  must  come. 

That  brandy  helps, 
I'm  better  now. 

[66] 


JUNIUS  BRUTUS  BOOTH 

i,  yes,  it'i  true  my  father 
Would  make  a  lawyer  of  me,  couldn't  do  it — 
I  am  a  better  lawyer  than  he  was 
For  acting  parts  and  living  other  lives, 
Thus  finding  laws  of  life — but  what's  the  good  ? 
You  can't  find  happiness,  all  is  vanity. 
If  you're  a  strolling  player,  vanity; 
Vexation  too  and  jealousy  and  strife. 
If  all  the  house  goes  mad  to  see  you  rage 
As  life-like  as  the  Moor  did,  do  they  know 
What  realest  envy  stalks  behind  the  scenes, 
What  you  have  done  to  keep  your  golden  voice, 
Your  strength  to  paint  the  frenzy  of  Othello? 

After  one  greatest  triumph  I  sat  alone, 

Was  playing  solitaire,  who  should  come  in? 

Chief  Justice  Marshall,  friend  of  mine  ?    Oh,  yes. 

He  said,  "I  think  you'd  be  the  happiest 

Of  men,  why  not  enjoy  what  you've  achieved?" 

"Judge,"  I  replied,  "you  see  me  here  alone, 

There  it  no  ecstasy,  no  drop  of  joy 

me  save  in  that  moment  when  I  see, 
Both  through  my  genius  fjurripf  and  the  cries 
And  plaudits  from  the  house,  that  I  have  struck. 
The  fateful  note  that  thrills — all  other  hours 
Are  spent  in  saving  power  and  making  ready 

;iist  that  moment.     What's  an  actor,  poet? 
A  medium  round  whom  the  spirits  swarm 
Like  bats  in  Tartarus  and  shrill  Me !  Mel 

[67] 


JUNIUS  BRUTUS  BOOTH 

Take  now  and  write,  speak  for  me— make  it  clear, 

You  are  our  hope  of  truth,  of  being  known 

For  what  we  are.     And  so  you're  never  done. 

The  spirits  dash  about  you  with  their  cries; 

Men  note  your  eyes  turned  inward — move  away. 

And  you  must  keep  in  vigor.     Hoarseness  rasps 

The  voice  of  Brutus,  you  must  catch  no  cold. 

You  drink  sometimes  to  deafen  ears  against 

The  spirits'  crying,  but  you  pay  for  it, 

Must  climb  back  into  strength,   but  while  you're  weak 

The  spirits  are  a-crying,  there  you  are, 

Ambitious  but  enfeebled,  can't  respond, 

And  tortured  for  it.     There  is  no  escape. 

And  so  you  play  at  solitaire." 

The  Judge 

Replied:  "A  judge  is  lonely,  for  his  reasons 
Must  keep  himself  aloof." 

Yes,  I  knew  Kean. 
He  played  Othello  to  my  great  lago, 
And  I  say  great,  for  I  was  twenty-one, 
And  made  the  London  English  shout  and  howl: 
"Great  Booth  forever,"  though  they  shouted,  too, 
"No  Booth"  and  "down  with  Booth,"  the  partisans 
Of  Kean,  the  envious.     And  on  a  time 
It's  Drury  Lane,  and  what  an  audience ! 
Hazlitt  is  there  and  Godwin,  Shelley's  friend, 
John  Howard  Payne,  who  wrote  "The  Fall  of  Tarquin." 
He  saw  that  Kean  was  envious,  would  not  be 
Excelled  by  me  and  wrote  as  much. 

[68] 


JUNIUS  BRUTUS  BOOTH 

My  friend, 

Another  drink  of  brandy ! 

Well,  at  last 

I  make  America  my  home.    'Twere  well 
If  I  am  spared  to  write  my  memories, 
They  throng  so  at  this  moment.     God  be  praised, 
I  knew  Old  Hickory  and  supped  with  him, 
A  man  from  top  to  toe!     And  I  have  lived, 
Fought,  suffered,  triumphed,  lived  through  self  and  lived 
Through  Brutus,  Lear,  and  Richard. 

Look  at  me, 

Am  I  a  man  you'd  ever  take  for  mad? 
Mad-men  have  struck  at  me,  a  lunatic 
Struck  at  me  with  an  ax,  I  cowed  his  hate 
And  fixed  him  with  my  eye.     But  as  for  me, 
Here  have  I  been  for  life  a  lover  of  home, 
A  husband  blest  with  happiness  in  a  wife, 
And  yet  reputed  mad.    For  little  things 
Like  this  reputed  mad:  I'm  playing  Shylock, 
The  call  boy  searches  me,  my  time  has  come, 
Where  was  I?     In  a  closet.     Was  it  queer? 
A  symptom  ?     No  !     I  hid  to  shut  the  light 
Of  other  things  external  from  the  mind 
Of  Shylock's  mood.     Why,  is  it  strange  at  all 
For  a  soul  that  incarnates  itself  with  souls 
Like  Brutus'  and  Lear's  to  lose  itself, 
Seem  sometimes  naked,  trembling,  swaying  too 
With  such  exhaustion,  such  tremendous  change? 

[69] 


JUNIUS  BRUTUS  BOOTH 

These  common  minds  see  not  the  genius  mind 
For  what  it  is,  forget  the  strength  and  wisdom 
That  makes  the  genius,  in  my  case,  forget 
My  books  and  scholarship,  my  toil,  who  learned 
Greek,  Latin,  German,  French  and  Arabic, 
Hebrew  and  Spanish;  the  philosophies, 
I've  mastered  in  my  life. 

I  tremble  too 

For  thinking  of  my  little  son,  John  Wilkes, 
So  beautiful  and  gifted,  has  the  touch; 
Is  full  of  dreams,  goes  charging  on  his  horse, 
Spouting  heroic  speeches,  lance  in  hand 
There  on  "The  Farm,"  a  patriot  and  a  lover 
Of  liberty  even  now.     What  will  he  be, 
A  statesman  or  an  actor,  warrior,  what? 
God  knows  alone,  and  what  his  fate  God  knows. 
I  named  him  after  John  Wilkes,  patriot 
And  English  libertarian — but  no  matter, 
He'll  do  what  he  will  do.     They  named  me  Brutus 
And  I  became  an  actor,  not  a  statesman, 
Warrior,  no  tyrannicide. 

Hold  there! 

What  is  this?     Take  my  hand !     Sharp  pain  again — 
Pray !     pray !     pray ! 

(He  dies.) 
[70] 


A  CERTAIN  POET  ON  THE  DEBATES 

(At  Alton,  Illinois,  October  I5th,  1858.) 
(Arguing  with  a  group  at  the  hotel.) 

Why  do  I  speak  with  such  authority? 
I  know  this  matter  through  from  A  to  Z ; 
I  know  it  just  as  well  as  Lincoln  knows  it. 
There's  not  a  document  I  have  not  studied 
From  Elliott's  Debates  to  this  Le  Compton 
Kansas  constitution  that  has  escaped 
My  mind's  analysis.     And  you  will  see 
Lincoln  is  beaten  now.     You  are  absurd 
To  think  he'll  win  the  presidency  for  losing 
The  senatorship — clean  crazy  all  of  you! 

Who  am  I  ?     Well,  it  makes  no  difference. 

I  am  a  mind,  a  mere  intelligence 

Going  about  this  year  of  fifty-eight 

An  observer  and  a  listener.     Gabriel 

Could  be  no  more  impersonal  than  I. 

I've  followed  up  these  fellows  like  the  boy 

That  trails  the  circus,  clear  from  Ottawa 

To  Freeport,  Charleston,  Galesburg,  Quincy,  Alton; 

And  made  my  way  at  first  with  sawing  wood, 

Later  by  selling  razors,  soap  and  strops; 

[70 


A  CERTAIN  POET  ON  THE  DEBATES 

And  just  to  hear  the  speaking,  see  the  crowds — 

These  crowds  that  leave  the  shop  and  farms,  these  crowds 

Solemn  and  noisy,  rapt,  tumultuous, 

Sober  and  drunk,  who  carry  whips  and  spit 

Tobacco  juice  around  and  drink  and  eat. 

The  babies  squall,  wagons  and  democrats 

Befog  the  air  with  dust,  and  oh,  the  heat! 

Yet  though  these  crowds  will  settle  like  the  dust 

In  graves  all  over  Illinois,  nothing  leave 

Of  what,  or  who  they  were,  no  less  these  crowds 

Have  reason  at  the  centre  like  the  sun; 

Dimmed  to  the  eyes  this  side ;  the  sun  is  there ! 

But  yet  the  sun  knows  it  is  there — the  dust 

Rises  and  shows  the  sun — there  you  have  thought 

Which  is  now,  will  be  handed  down  of  this — 

These  days.    Oh,  yes,  the  dust  will  rise  at  last 

When  evening — that's  reflection,  settles  down ; 

And  then  you'll  see  a  star — first  magnitude, 

The  name  is  Lincoln ! 

I  have  read.     I  know. 
Never  in  Rome  or  Greece  were  such  debates, 
Never  in  all  this  world.     Look  at  the  theme: 
Slavery  in  a  republic!     As  for  men, 
Where  is  their  equal?     Is  it  Pericles, 
Demosthenes  or  Cicero,  here  with  us, 
Great  Webster  ?    And  the  setting,  think  of  that! 
Here  in  this  western  prairie  state  they  pass 
From  town  to  town,  stand  up  before  the  mass, 

[72] 


A  CERTAIN  POET  ON  THE  DEBATES 

And  battle  with  their  wits — set  falcons  loose 

Of  swift  and  ravenous  logic  to  devour 

The  other's  flights.     The  crowds  perceive  the  trend, 

Gather  enough  to  guide  them  and  persuade, 

But  much  of  it  is  over  them.     You  heard 

Lincoln  to-day,  when  he  had  subtilized 

The  point  to  deadly  ether,  say  to  them : 

"An  audience  like  this  will  scarcely  see 

The  force  of  what  I  say,  but  minds  well  trained 

Will  follow  me  and  see."    That  is  the  point. 

Out  of  this  popular  oratory  rises 

A  durable  spire  of  truth.     This  Lincoln  leaves 

Great  thought  and  beauty  to  the  race.     And  yet 

Douglas  will  be  our  senator,  and  Seward 

Our  President  two  years  from  now.    As  Webster 

Could  never  win  the  prize,  this  Lincoln  too 

Will  fail  to  win  it. 

Why,  you  silly  fools! 

Lincoln  has  sprained  his  arms  and  back  for  good — 
But  he  has  laid  the  South  out  flat  and  cold, 
And  broken  the  slavocracy  in  two. 
He  did  it  with  one  question ;  asking  that 
He  made  the  Little  Giant  cough  and  stammer, 
And  blush  his  guilt  before  America. 
Oh,  yes,  he  answered  well  enough  to  win 
This  contest  here  in  Illinois;  but  look, 
The  Southern  press  is  after  him  already, 
They  scent  the  carcass  moved,  withdrawn  a  little; 

[73] 


A  CERTAIN  POET  ON  THE  DEBATES 

They  croak  like  buzzards — and  there  will  be  war 

Between  the  eagles  and  the  buzzards  now, 

Perhaps  when  Seward  is  elected;  truly 

If  Lincoln  should  be  chosen,  as  he  won't. 

It  isn't  that  this  Douglas  isn't  a  master. 

It  is  that  he  is  caught  between  the  mill-stones. 

The  upper  is  this  Kansas  and  Nebraska, 

The  lower  is  Dred  Scott — and  I  am  glad ! 

Why  did  he  father  Kansas  and  Nebraska? 

Why  did  he  flout  the  ancient  ordinance 

Of  1787,  which  kept  out 

This  curse  of  slavery,  out  of  Illinois, 

But  brought  us  liberty  of  press  and  speech, 

The  bill  of  rights?     Did  Congress  have  the  power 

To  pass  this  ordinance  of  '87? 

Or  did  it  lack  the  power,  because  the  states 

That  came  into  the  union  with  their  slaves 

Might  keep  their  slaves,  reclaim  as  fugitive 

Their  slaves  on  freedom's  soil?     Well,  if  it  be 

That  Congress  had  the  power  to  plaster  down 

The  ordinance  of  1787 

Upon  this  Illinois,  this  great  Northwest, 

It  had  the  power  to  say  the  western  land 

Of  Kansas  and  Nebraska  should  be  free 

As  territories  ruled  from  Washington 

And  no  imperialism  !    So,  I  say  again 

It  serves  this  Douglas  right  to  be  destroyed, 

And  ground  to  powder  for  this  act  of  his, 

This  Kansas  and  Nebraska. 

[74] 


A  CERTAIN  POET  ON  THE  DEBATES 

Well,  all  right. 

It  sounds  all  right,  it  makes  the  idiots  whoop 
To  hear  the  Little  Giant  say  he  favors 
The  people's  rule  in  Kansas  and  Nebraska. 
Their  right  to  say  they'll  have  this  slavery 
Or  have  it  not — yes,  popular  sovereignty ! — 
But  why  not  let  the  people  vote  on  God, 
Or  choose  a  king,  or  take  me,  all  the  whites, 
And  make  us  slaves?     It  may  be  so,  if  truth 
Is  just  a  mockery  and  there's  nothing  real 
In  human  thought  at  all — one  thing  is  true 
As  anything,  and  everything  is  false. 

Thus  ruin  smites  the  temple  of  our  life, 
And  all  of  us  lie  down  as  beasts  and  grunt 
Around  its  broken  arches  and  its  columns! 

All  right !     He  gets  his  Kansas  and  Nebraska. 
That  makes  him  president!     Not  on  your  life! 
Momus  is  watching,  growls  a  horrid  laugh 
And  whispers  something  to  Slavocracy, 
Which  whispers  it  to  Taney — and  behold 
The  prophets  and  the  guardians  of  the  ark 
Of  the  covenant  declare  a  slave's  a  slave, 
And  can  be  taken  to  a  territory, 
And  kept  there  in  the  face  of  national  law 
That  makes  the  territory  free.     Or  else, 
Were  this  not  so,  the  Congress  is  supreme, 

[75] 


A  CERTAIN  POET  ON  THE  DEBATES 

Has  slipped  the  chain  of  the  organic  law, 
Which  recognizes  slavery.     What  is  this 
But  just  imperialism? 

God  Almighty ! 

They're  all  for  freedom,  a  republic  too. 
Kansas,  Nebraska — let  the  people  rule. 
Dred  Scott: — the  Congress  is  a  Parliament 
Like  England  has,  unless  it  pins  and  tucks 
The  constitution  round  its  pocky  body. 
That  may  be  true,  but  then  the  question  is: 
Is  slavery  charactered  upon  the  robe, 
And  must  the  figure  of  the  slave  be  seen 
Wherever  Congress  walks  ? 

I'll  come  to  that. 

The  point  is  now  that  Douglas  has  been  caught 
Between  his  Kansas  and  Nebraska  act, 
And  Dred  Scott  never  his.    And  being  lawful, 
Obedient  to  the  law  and  to  the  courts — 
You  heard  him  hammer  Lincoln  as  a  man 
Who  flouted  courts — while  he,  the  Little  Giant, 
Obeyed  the  laws — oh,  yes ! — So,  being  lawful, 
As  I  began,  must  hold  in  level  hands 
Dred  Scott  in  one,  and  in  the  other  hand 
This  Kansas  and  Nebraska. 

Very  good. 

Lincoln  has  got  him  now,  and  out  of  all 
This  rhetoric,  these  sorties  half  successful, 

[76] 


A  CERTAIN  POET  ON  THE  DEBATES 

These  scrimmages  with  Lincoln,  half  perplexed, 
You  find  your  Little  Giant  on  his  back 
With  Lincoln  over  him  and  pinning  shoulders 
Down  to  the  floor. 

Here  is  the  wrestling  trick: 
Can  any  territory  keep  this  slavery 
Out  lawfully,  that  is,  against  the  wish 
Of  any  citizen?     What  is  the  answer? 
If  you  say  yes,  where  is  Dred  Scott?     If  no, 
How  do  the  people  rule? 

What  is  his  answer? 
Why,  yes,  he  says,  a  territory  can 
Keep  slavery  out.     Dred  Scott  still  sends  it  there, 
But  then  the  people  rule,  and  if  the  people 
There  in  Nebraska  make  it  hot  for  slavery 
By  local  law  and  custom,  frowns  and  blows, 
It  will  not  thrive.     That  satisfied  the  crowd ; 
Enough  at  least,  elects  him  Senator, 
But  loses  him  the  South,  the  golden  prize, 
Splits  up  the  country,  gives  us  war  in  time, 
When  argument  is  silenced  cannon  boom — 
And  when  your  Seward  comes  to  Washington 
The  South  secedes. 

Now,  listen  for  a  moment! 
What  is  Abe  Lincoln's  genealogy 
In  faith  political?     Sired  by  the  Federalists, 
And  mothered  by  the  Whigs.     A  tariff  man; 

[77] 


A  CERTAIN  POET  ON  THE  DEBATES 

Believes  too  in  the  Bank — tariffs  and  banks 

Filched  from  the  plenary  stores  of  privilege 

By  hands  that  break  the  shackles  of  the  law. 

He's  born  a  Whig,  has  turned  Republican, 

What  is  his  blood  ?    Why,  liberal  construction, 

Twisting  the  constitution  out  of  shape, 

And  tearing  holes  in  it  to  let  the  Congress 

Escape  and  wander — where?     Why,  anywhere! 

And  though  it  be  that  touching  slavery 

There's  nothing  which  forbids  the  Congress  acting 

In  freedom's  way — and  that's  the  very  point — 

And  granting  that  the  Constitution's  over 

The  territories,  still  the  Congress  can 

Bring  freedom  there — this  theory  is  akin 

To  loose  construction,  scarcely  can  be  told 

From  loose  construction.     For  you  see,  if  freedom, 

Since  Congress  is  not  hampered,  can  be  brought, 

Why  not  then  slavery,  if  it  be  not  hampered  ? 

And  why  not  colonies,  dependencies, 

Ruled  just  as  Congress  wills,  if  never  a  word 

Lies  in  our  charter  to  forbid  or  grant 

The  power  to  do  it. 

Well,  there  '11  be  a  war, 
And  hell  thereafter.     So  you  like  my  talk ! 
What  is  my  name?     Why,  Satan  is  my  name— 
And  I  go  wandering  on  the  earth  to  see, 
Walk  to  and  fro  and  laugh  and  drop  a  tear 
In  spite  of  all  my  laughter.     Tears  and  laughter 

[78] 


A  CERTAIN  POET  ON  THE  DEBATES 

For  ideas  in  the  heads  of  men  that  seethe, 
Pop,  crackle,  ferment,  blow  up  bottles,  kegs, 
Spill  and  destroy  bacteria  on  the  floor 
Of  epochs,  ruin  wisdoms,  cultures,  faiths. 
Time  scrubs  the  floor  of  all  such  verses — Time 
Matures  fresh  grapes,  new  ferments,  and  repeats 
The  old  catastrophes ;  and  hence  I  laugh, 
And  drop  a  tear  on  all  the  sorry  waste. 


[79] 


PART  II 

THE  DECISION 

(April  1 4th,  1861.) 

Lincoln  is  sitting  absorbed  in  thought  in  an  office  of  the 
executive  mansion,  where  he  has  been  in  consultation 
with  his  cabinet.  A  telegraph  instrument  has  ceased 
to  click,  but  the  wires  are  droning.  Lincoln  sud 
denly  falls  into  a  sleep,  at  once  profound  and  trance- 
like.  In  the  vision  members  of  his  cabinet  and  secre 
taries  move  in  and  out  of  the  room. 

LINCOLN 
So  there  are  five? 

A  VOICE 

Yes,  five  to  two. 

SEWARD'S  VOICE 

A  month 

Has  gone  by  and  no  policy.     You  should 
Take  hold  yourself,  or  on  a  cabinet  member 
Devolve  the  task. 

[81] 


THE  DECISION 

LINCOLN 

Whatever's  to  be  done 
Is  mine  to  do. 

SEWARD'S  VOICE 

Fort  Sumpter  leave  alone ! 
If  we  employ  armed  force  we  have  begun 
A  civil  war — without  armed  force  we  fail. 
We  cannot  take  the  fort  and  keep  the  fort, 
Unless  we  subjugate  the  States  as  well. 
No,  let  us  not  first  draw  the  sword. 

LINCOLN 

To  say — 

A  VOICE 
Yes,  five  to  two. 

SEWARD'S  VOICE 

Your  cabinet  opposes 
The  Fort's  provisioning. 

LINCOLN 

The  property 
And  military  posts,  the  forts  which  were 

In  our  possession  when  the  government 
Came  to  my  hands,  I  shall  defend  and  hold. 
I  shall  collect  the  duties,  but  beyond 
Such  things  make  no  invasion. 

A  VOICE 

And  the  mails? 

[82] 


THE  DECISION 

ANOTHER  VOICE 
Fort  Sumpter  has  been  shelled ! 

SEWARD'S  VOICE 

So  I  forewarned  you. 

ANOTHER  VOICE 
That  was  an  error. 

ANOTHER  VOICE 

May  I  ask  a  question? 
Will  you  invade  the  country  to  collect 
The  duties,  or  relieve  a  fort  alone 
Where  duties  are  in  question? 

LINCOLN 

My  inaugural — 

ANOTHER  VOICE 
To  hell  with  forts  and  duties — free  the  slaves! 

SEWARD'S  VOICE 

Drop  slavery!     Before  the  people  raise 
The  question:     Is  it  Union  or  Disunion! 

ANOTHER  VOICE 
I  say  to  let  the  erring  Sisters  go. 

ANOTHER  VOICE 
I  care  more  for  the  principles — 

[83] 


THE  DECISION 

ANOTHER  VOICE 

Be  still! 
I'm  sick  of  principle 


THE  SAME  VOICE 

The  principles 

Of  local  democratic  government  are  worth 
Twice  over  all  the  niggers. 

ANOTHER  VOICE 

Senator, 
You  are  most  eloquent  when  full  of  drink. 

ANOTHER  VOICE 

Would  you  unite  the  North?    Maneuver  them 
To  fire  upon  the  Fort. 

ANOTHER  VOICE 

The  time  has  come 

To  open  up  the  question  with  the  sword : 
Is  this  a  league,  is  this  a  nation,  which? 

ANOTHER  VOICE 

What  do  you  want,  a  tariff  or  a  bank? 
Take  off  your  nigger  mask,  you  centralist! 

ANOTHER  VOICE 
A  contract  broken  by  a  signatory 
Absolves  the  other  signatory. 

[84] 


THE  DECISION 

ANOTHER  VOICE 

Yes 
The  Yankee  cotton  spinner— 

ANOTHER  VOICE 

Singing  psalms! 

ANOTHER  VOICE 

The  radicals  have  brought  us  to  this  pass, 
This  agitation,  hatred  sectional. 

DOUGLAS'  VOICE 

All  seem  to  overlook  this  vital  matter: 
The  President  can  use  the  military 
Where  only  States  request  it. 


The  act  of  '75. 


ANOTHER  VOICE 

You  forget 


DOUGLAS'  VOICE 

I  don't  forget. 

The  act  of  '75  does  not  apply, 
Except  to  laws  resisted,  where  a  marshall 
Is  overpowered. 

ANOTHER  VOICE 

And  there  is  no  marshall, 
There  is  no  judge  in  the  seceded  States. 

[85] 


THE  DECISION 

ANOTHER  VOICE 
You  will  appoint  one,  so  you  promised. 

LINCOLN 

Yes. 

DOUGLAS'  VOICE 

Then,  sir,  what  cause  is  there  for  apprehension? 
Who  dares  to  say  your  President  will  pursue 
A  policy  of  war,  unless  he  call 
On  Congress  for  the  means  and  for  the  power? 

ANOTHER  VOICE 

I  ask  about  Fort  Sumpter — are  there  ships 
With  cargoes  of  provisions  on  their  way? — 

ANOTHER  VOICE 
Yes,  they  have  sailed. 

OTHER  VOICES 

No!  No! 

ANOTHER  VOICE 

Oh,  yes,  the  seven  governors  from  the  North 
Have  changed  his  policy.     He  now  intends 
To  overthrow  the    federative  law. 
O  great  conspiracy — O  seven-headed 
Apocalyptic  Beast! 

The  vision  grows  confused.     Lincoln  seems  to  him 
self  to  attempt  to  arise  from  the  chair  but  is  un- 
[86] 


THE  DECISION 

able  to  do  so.  The  scene  whirls  about  like  drifting 
mist,  struck  by  a  sudden  current  of  air,  in  which 
there  are  lights  and  faces.  Voices  are  mingled 
together  indistinguishably  and  then  fade  away. 
There  is  a  silence  Out  of  the  confusion  two  fig 
ures  emerge,  one  bright,  the  other  shadowy.  Both 
are  images  of  Lincoln.  They  become  seated  in  a 
boat  which  is  moving  with  great  rapidity.  The 
only  sound  is  the  droning  of  the  telegraph. 

FIRST  PHANTOM 
Twice  have  I  seen  this  fateful  scene  before. 

SECOND  PHANTOM 

The  depths  are  moving,  but  no  waters  roar. 
A  mountain  silence  clasps  the  air  and  sea. 
Look  through  the  glassy  fathoms  far  below : 
Beneath  us  glides  the  ocean's  dizzy  floor 
Which  we  slcim  over  with  a  swallow's  speed. 

FIRST  PHANTOM 

I  see  a  shadowy  shore  and  precipices. 
Yes,  this  portends  my  spirit's  earthly  woe. 

SECOND  PHANTOM 
You  shall  not  shrink  !     What  though  your  heart  shall 

bleed 

Its  last  drop  out  walking  the  abysses, 
You  must  go  forth — the  hour  has  struck  for  you! 

[87] 


THE  DECISION 

The  little  freedoms  of  your  life  are  past, 

As  youth  may  choose  its  work  or  happiness; 

Now  you  must  steer  the  boat  through  fog  and  blast. 

This  rock  encircled  water  is  no  less 

Than  your  soul  captured  in  the  trap  of  Fate. 

Far  over  stands  'twixt  earth  and  heaven  a  gate 

Where  souls  depart  and  enter  into  Time, 

You  must  set  foot  upon  this  shore  and  climb 

And  blindly  your  election  make,  renew 

Your  will  and  spirit. 

FIRST  PHANTOM 

Tell  me  what  to  do? 

SECOND  PHANTOM 

Heal,  if  you  can,  the  nation's  growing  scars, 
Let  harmony  come  out  of  harsh  discord. 

FIRST  PHANTOM 

Suppose  the  seven  States  first  draw  the  sword? 
Have  they  not  drawn  it  now? 

SECOND  PHANTOM 

All  bloody  wars 

Furnish  great  argument  to  place  the  blame 
For  the  first  blow.    But  even  if  it's  blood 
That  blots  the  bond  of  human  brotherhood, 
Behold  the  pangs  that  flow  from  human  pride 
When  slaughter  by  such  blood  is  justified. 

[88] 


THE  DECISION 

FIRST  PHANTOM 
What  shall  I  do  with  giants  who  rebel? 

SECOND  PHANTOM 
You  do  but  traffic  in  a  word,  a  name, 
A  word  it  is  with  which  you  may  inflame 
To  mob-like  fury  a  judicious  nation — 
So  you  may  enter  on  an  usurpation. 

FIRST  PHANTOM 
What  do  you  say  ?    Am  I  a  tyrant  then  ? 

SECOND  PHANTOM 

Already  have  you  thought  of  arming  men 
Without  the  sovereign  sanction  of  the  law. 

FIRST  PHANTOM 

But  if  I  don't  mad  Treason  will  have  gained 
Such  progress  that  it  will  have  quite  attained 
Its  purpose  to  bind  down  and  overawe 
Conciliation  or  resistance  even. 

SECOND  PHANTOM 
You  arrogate  the  very  will  of  heaven, 
As  tyrants  do,  and  in  your  purpose  find 
A  small  reflection  of  the  eternal  mind. 
What  do  you  know  of  this?    But  if  you  rest 
On  human  will  and  thought  you  must  concede 
A  contradiction  in  your  dream,  who  break 
The  law  a  rebel  spirit  to  arrest. 


THE  DECISION 

This  is  a  way  of  sowing  nettle  seed. 
Once  you  were  faithful  to  a  better  creed, 
That  men  may  found  new  nations  when  the  old 
No  longer  have  the  people's  fair  consent. 
Rights  are  not  hostile.     If  this  be  a  right 
How  may  you  overthrow  it  with  your  might? 

FIRST  PHANTOM 

Have  you  not  heard  this  story  of  me  told : 
At  New  Orleans  I  saw  the  children  cry 
When  from  the  auction  block  their  sire  was  sold. 
I  then  resolved  to  strike  this  curse  a  blow 
If  ever  Heaven  gave 
My  arm  the  strength.     It  is  my  deepest  hate. 

SECOND  PHANTOM 

This  is  the  thought  then  lying  further  back 
In  your  fanatic  spirit,  child  of  woe, 
Reached  through  a  devious  and  hidden  track! 
For  this  you  will  prepare  your  country's  grave. 
You  will  free  some,  but  only  to  enslave 
A  wider  realm  of  being. 

FIRST  PHANTOM 

I  would  know 
What  may  be  best. 

SECOND  PHANTOM 

The  country  is  at  peace, 
You  do  not  dare  to  ask  your  Congress  for 
Troops  on  the  Southern  people  to  make  war. 

[90] 


THE  DECISION 

FIRST  PHANTOM 

I  do  not  need  to  ask.    I  have  enrolled 
An  oath  with  God  the  Nation  to  uphold. 

SECOND  PHANTOM 

But  if  you  call  the  troops  will  you  not  ask 
Congress  to  validate  your  powers'  increase 
And  sharpening  of  the  sword  for  such  a  task? 
You  do  not  answer.    Well,  if  this  may  be 
Do  you  not  contemplate  a  tyranny  ? 

FIRST  PHANTOM 

What  is  this  rupture  but  a  mere  defection, 
What  might  be  called  rebellion,  insurrection 
Against  the  laws,  which  I  must  overthrow, 
As  others  did  before  me  from  the  first? 
No  word  writ  in  the  charter  of  the  nation 
Has  made  provision  for  its  termination. 

SECOND  PHANTOM 

But  not  to  argue  this — you  have  reversed 
Your  mind  upon  the  right  of  revolution. 

FIRST  PHANTOM 
Not  for  a  righteous  or  a  holy  cause. 

SECOND  PHANTOM 

You  test  it  in  your  own  soul's  resolution. 
But  tell  me  when  there  are  no  writs  or  laws 

[90 


THE  DECISION 

For  you  to  execute  in  the  Southern  land 
How  are  you  acting? 

FIRST  PHANTOM 

But  I  still  command 

The  property  and  forts,  and  other  places 
Belonging  to  the  Nation. 

SECOND  PHANTOM 

Understand 

Their  territory  all  such  forts  embraces 
And  sovereignty  thereover  is  resumed. 
You  cannot  have  a  war  on  that  account, 
When  they  would  pay  you  for  the  places  lost. 

FIRST  PHANTOM 

First  the  rebellious  spirit  must  surmount 
The  barriers  that  keep  them  home  with  us. 
They  cannot  leave  us,  cannot  take  and  hold 
What  is  not  theirs,  or  what  if  they  had  sold 
They  could  not  grant. 

SECOND  PHANTOM 

That  is  but  bloody  gold. 
And  what  you  say  if  acted  on  will  bring 
A  million  deaths. 

FIRST  PHANTOM 

They  are  responsible 
For  all  the  consequences  if  they  cling 
To  this  rebellious  purpose. 

[92] 


THE  DECISION 

SECOND  PHANTOM 

To  compel 

This  fortress's  provisioning 
Will  be  a  blow  first  struck.     It  is  the  law: 
The  first  blow  of  a  war  is  struck  by  him 
Who  makes  the  first  blow  needful  to  be  struck. 

FIRST  PHANTOM 

You  put  the  woven  substance  in  a  ruck. 
I  leave  the  issue  of  a  war  with  them. 
They  shall  not  be  assailed,  nor  may  they  have 
Conflict  with  me  unless  they  first  aggress 
The  government. 

SECOND  PHANTOM 

Oh,  then  they  must  withdraw 
Resistance  to  your  plan. 

FIRST  PHANTOM 

Well,  I  confess 

No  open  plan,  as  yet.    But  now  attend: 
I  have  an  oath  in  heaven  registered 
The  Union  to  preserve,  protect,  defend; 
They  have  no  oath  the  Union  to  destroy. 

SECOND  PHANTOM 
What  is  the  Union  but  a  verbal  toy 
Like  Justice,  Beauty,  Liberty  or  Truth? 
And  as  for  them  they  need  not  take  an  oath, 
They  need  but  act. 

[93] 


THE  DECISION 

FIRST  PHANTOM 
The  Union  is  unbroken,  is  a  pact 
Which  cannot  be  erased  or  torn  apart 
By  less  than  half  of  those  who  gave  it  breath. 

SECOND  PHANTOM 

How  does  a  State  sink  partly  into  death 
By  joining  other  States?  Can  it  accede 
And  thereby  lose  its  virtue  to  secede  ? 

FIRST  PHANTOM 
The  Union  is  much  older  than  accession. 

SECOND  PHANTOM 

Some  Union,  not  the  Union  which  you  rule. 
The  states  which  formed  the  old  Confederacy 
Withdrew  to  form  the  Union.    Liberty 
Is  older  than  all  States. 
Her  handmaiden  has  always  been  secession. 

FIRST  PHANTOM 

These  arguments  are  used  but  to  befool 
The  minds  who  loathe  the  wrong  they  would  conceal. 
No  justice  will  be  lost  by  him  who  waits. 

SECOND  PHANTOM 

They  ask  a  council  for  the  general  weal 
Of  all  the  States  these  matters  to  arrange 
Without  the  flow  of  blood. 

[94] 


THE  DECISION 

FIRST  PHANTOM 

I  shall  not  change 

What  I  have  said :  If  God  who  rules  above, 
Almighty  Ruler  of  all  nations,  deems 
Eternal  truth  with  them,  or  with  our  side, 
That  truth  eternal  ever  must  abide. 

SECOND  PHANTOM 

But  after  all  the  truth  is  that  which  seems 
The  truth  to  you.    And  if  mankind  you  love, 
Why  draw  the  sword  to  justify  such  truth? 
Has  any  warrior  of  the  world  said  more? 

FIRST  PHANTOM 

The  people  may  be  trusted  to  restore 
All  broken  rights,  to  them  I  leave  all  things. 

SECOND  PHANTOM 

What  do  you  say  ?    These  dubious  wanderings 
Travel  along  a  pathway  scarcely  smooth. 
You  vowed  to  let  no  forces  intermit 
The  Nation's  laws  in  no  place,  save  the  means 
Which  should  be  requisite, 
Were  by  the  people  from  your  arms  withheld. 
You  do  not  let  them  choose  when  you've  compelled 
Their  action  by  your  act,  which  intervenes 
Their  virgin  will  and  what  you  do  before 
You  learn  its  voice.    Yes,  so  arise  all  wars ! 
What  people  ever  had  a  chance  to  voice 

[95] 


THE  DECISION 

Free  and  deliberate  their  honest  choice 

'Twixt  war  and  peace  ?    Kings  leave  them  to  deplore 

The  initial  step  while  fighting  to  retrieve 

Or  mitigate  its  ills.    Your  counselors 

Have  spoken,  and  your  counselors  believe 

The  pending  step  unwise.     So  at  the  last 

Out  of  all  dialectics  stand  two  men 

Each  judging,  each  appealing  to  the  shrine 

Of  God,  Eternal  Justice,  all  unknown, 

Save  as  they  see  reflections  of  them  cast 

In  their  refracted  speculations — then 

What  is  it  but  the  clash  of  sovereignties 

Grown  firmer  from  offense  and  wounded  pride? 

Yet  cunning  to  manipulate  decrees 

With  forethought  in  successive  acts  to  hide 

Provocative  offenses,  put  in  fault 

The  other  sovereign  for  the  first  assault. 

FIRST  PHANTOM 

One  man  may  risk  his  life,  or  suffer  wrong, 
He  has  no  other  but  himself  at  stake. 
A  ruler  has  been  chosen  to  be  strong, 
And  save  his  people  for  his  people's  sake. 
The  clearest  vision,  most  commanding  power, 
Interprets  and  must  rule  the  hour, 
Must  call  its  purest  sense  of  duty  God. 
Must  stake  its  being  now,  in  worlds  to  come 
Before  what  thrones  of  judgment  chance  to  be. 
One  phase  alone  of  life's  immensity 

[96] 


THE  DECISION 

May  one  o'ermaster,  though  it  bring  him  doom 

For  things  unseen,  the  path  he  never  trod 

Strewn  with  his  errors.    Yet  he  may  be  free 

By  acting  through  that  genesis  and  win 

Approval  for  the  warp.    No  soul  has  room 

For  growth  in  love,  but  may  it  also  thrive 

To  needed  power  in  thought.    If  heaven  require 

Excess  in  either,  while  the  other  shrinks 

In  heaven's  ends,  should  heaven  then  requite 

The  sacrifice  with  penitential  fire? 

It  is  enough  that  whosoever  drinks 

Of  such  success  finds  bitterness  within, 

The  cup  on  earth.    Can  anyone  begrudge 

The  work  before  me,  sword  that  I  possess? 

Nor  do  I  of  another's  motives  judge. 

If  rights  conflict  not,  yet  one  master  right 

Attuned  to  highest  law  must  still  prevail 

And  lesser  laws  must  fail. 

The  winds  of  destiny  may  bear  me  far, 

Which  out  of  deepest  heaven  are  arising. 

I  have  one  compass  and  one  guiding  star, 

One  altar  for  my  spirit's  sacrificing: 

The  Union  is  my  soul's  profoundest  love. 

SECOND  PHANTOM 

If  you  knew  heaven's  wish  you  might  fulfill  it, 
Seen  heaven's  law  revealed,  then  you  might  will  it, 
What  man  can  say  he  knows  the  word  thereof  ? 
Oh,  not  alone  you  dedicate  your  life 

[97] 


THE  DECISION 

To  this  adventure  in  uncertain  strife! 

You  give  the  Nation's  blood  and  spirit  too. 

If  you  could  know  the  Nation  would  renew 

Its  strength  in  years  or  cycles  from  your  thought, 

And  through  your  godlike  daring  might  be  wrought 

To  finer  triumphs  in  the  time  to  come, 

You  would  have  warrant  to  pronounce  the  doom 

Of  blood  and  tears  to  fertilize  the  soil, 

Where  at  the  start  revenge  and  hate  will  grow. 

But  what  unending  sorrow  may  recoil 

Upon  your  purposes,  who  do  not  know? 

FIRST  PHANTOM 

What  are  these  cliffs  of  purple  which  we  near? 
Gray  wastes  of  stagnant  mists  above  them  lie. 
The  boat  glides  downward  as  if  in  a  sphere 
Of  liquid  crystal  mowing,  dizzily 
The  forked  rocks  point  upward  to  the  sky — 
Have  I  then  died? 

SECOND  PHANTOM 

There  is  a  place  of  moss 
Whereon  the  prow  must  strike  lest  it  be  crushed. 

FIRST  PHANTOM 
This  is  the  world's  end.     How  the  air  is  hushed ! 

SECOND  PHANTOM 

Come  now!    You  have  been  ferried  well  across. 
There!    We  have  landed.     Hear  the  whispering  keel. 

[98] 


THE  DECISION 

FIRST  PHANTOM 
I'm  growing  faint. 

SECOND  PHANTOM 

Much  still  must  I  reveal. 
We  two  must  stand  on  yonder  highest  rock. 

FIRST  PHANTOM 
It  cannot  be! 

SECOND  PHANTOM 

I  will  the  door  unlock. 
They  may  not  be  away.     First  let  me  knock. 

(He  knocks  on  the  cliff.     The  vision  grows  cloudy.) 

FIRST  PHANTOM 

What  heights  are  these  where  midway  to  the  sea 
The  gulls  like  flakes  of  snow  eddy  around ! 

SECOND  PHANTOM 

The  purple  wastes  lie  under  a  shorn  sun. 
They  do  not  bleed,  no  golden  ooze  is  seen, 
No  arrows  pierce  them. 

FIRST  PHANTOM 

And  how  could  it  be? 

A  barrier  of  mud,  a  sunken  realm 

With  shores  where  wrecks  are  rotting  are  before  you. 

They  sleep  upon  the  tideless  water. 

[99] 


THE  DECISION 

SECOND  PHANTOM 

Yes, 

This  is  a  quiet  sea  of  perished  dreams! 

FIRST  PHANTOM 

Greater  than  Asia  was  this  kingdom  once, 
But  in  a  war  it  sank. 

SECOND  PHANTOM 

What  is  the  tale? 

FIRST  PHANTOM 
There  was  a  city  set  upon  a  hill 
Which  heaven  governed  as  a  pilot  guides 
The  vessel  from  the  stern,  by  force  of  thought. 
Till  spirits  here  were  given  air  and  light 
To  prove  their  natures,  for  it  was  the  wish 
Of  that  first  pair  which  built  its  earliest  hearth. 
There  since  the  husband  worked  with  iron  and  fire, 
Where  twenty  bellows  blew,  and  all  the  day 
The  anvil  sounded  in  a  shop,  which  seemed 
A  palace  thick  with  stars,  and  giants  bore 
Great  burdens,  wielded  sledges,  and  obeyed 
The  master  workman,  so  the  city  heaped 
Great  store  of  armament  and  priceless  works. 
Meanwhile  the  woman  in  whose  eyes  and  brow 
The  final  reason,  compress  of  all  light 
Made  of  all  lights  absorbed,  resolved,  and  tamed 
Lay  like  a  high  serenity  of  power, 
Or  balanced  wisdom,  bore  great  sons  to  rule 

[100] 


THE  DECISION 

The  state  and  to  preserve  it  in  the  wars 

When  wars  should  come.     In  peace  to  keep  the  courts, 

And  laws  like  to  their  mother's  face,  a  face 

Which  awed  the  dullest  slave,  out  of  whose  brain 

The  idea  like  a  statue  carved  in  rock 

By  hammers  broken,  rolled,  beholding  it. 

She  taught  her  sons  that  some  are  born  to  rule, 

And  some  to  serve,  and  some  to  carry  torches, 

And  some  to  blow  the  bellows  for  the  fire 

Where  torches  may  be  lit ;  and  how  a  state* 

Where  high  and  low  remain  as  high  and  low 

So  long  as  nature  wills,  move  in  a  sphere 

Of  democratic  laws,  where  all  may  have 

The  bread  they  earn,  and  where  no  strength  may  seize 

Another's  happiness,  another's  bread. 

Hence  was  it  that  she  fired  her  sons  to  drive 

A  giant  troubler  from  the  city's  gates, 

And  shut  him  up  in  Sicily. 

But  the  land 

Over  whose  hills  and  vales  the  waters  lie 
There  where  we  look  had  other  life.     I  speak: 
It  was  a  land  of  many  lakes  and  rivers, 
And  plains  and  meadows,  mountains  full  of  ore, 
Both  gold  and  silver,  copper,  precious  stones. 
And  valued  wood,  most  fruitful  of  all  things, 
Herbage  or  roots,  or  corn,  whatever  gives 
Delight  or  sustenance.    And  the  ruler's  strength 
Brought  riches  from  all  ports.     But  to  relate 

[101] 


THE  DECISION 

Its  founder's  part,  the  country  was  divided 
Among  ten  rulers  who  had  sworn  to  obey 
Injunctions  carven  on  a  shaft  of  gold, 
Erected  in  the  middle  of  the  realm. 
And  here  the  people  of  the  several  States 
Gathered  for  conference  on  the  general  weal, 
And  to  inquire  if  any  of  the  states 
Had  trespassed  on  the  other,  or  transgressed 
The  writing  on  the  shaft  of  gold,  and  pass 
Appropriate  judgment;  for  upon  the  shaft 
Curses  were  graven  on  the  recreant. 
And  it  was  written  none  should  take  up  arms 
Against  the  other;  and  if  one  should  raise 
His  hand  against  the  central  strength  (for  where 
The  shaft  of  gold  stood,  there  a  palace  stood 
Where  lived  a  ruler  speaking  for  them  all), 
Then  should  the  others  rescue  it  and  fling 
The  rebels  back. 

Such  was  this  empire  lost 
And  so  did  it  remain  so  long  as  men 
Obeyed  the  laws  and  heaven  loved.    At  first 
They  practiced  wisdom,  they  despised  all  things 
Save  virtue  only,  lightly  thought  of  gold, 
Were  sober,  hated  luxury,  knew  control 
Of  passions  and  of  self.    And  knew  that  wealth 
Grows  with  such  virtues,  and  by  unity 
With  one  another,  but  by  zeal  for  wealth 
All  friendship  dies.    And  so  they  waxed  in  store 

[102] 


THE  DECISION 

Of  gold  and  spirit.     But  at  last  the  soul, 
Which  was  divine  and  moved  in  them,  fell  off 
And  weakened,  grew  diluted  with  too  much 
Of  human  nature,  and  became  unjust, 
Cruel  and  base,  voracious,  drunken,  lost 
To  wisdom,  discipline;  and  the  seeing  eye 
Saw  all  good  things  forgotten,  but  to  those 
Who  had  no  eye  to  see  true  happiness 
They  still  appeared  most  blest  and  glorious, 
Filled  as  they  were  with  avarice  and  lust. 
So  then  arose  one  state,  and  then  another 
Against  the  central  ruler,  none  was  free 
Of  disobedience  to  the  graven  words 
Upon  the  shaft  of  gold,  until  at  last 
The  city  on  the  hill  watching  the  strife 
Embarked  with  troops. 

SECOND  PHANTOM 

Have  you  not  prophesied 
Your  country's  fate  if  you  assault  the  South? 
It  is  the  zeal  for  wealth  that  cries  for  war. 
From  such  a  war  our  spirit  shall  be  lost, 
Our  justice  fouled,  our  friendship  turned  to  hate, 
Our  laughter  rendered  drunken.     We  shall  be 
The  city  on  the  hill,  the  island  lost — 
Have  both  not  perished? 

FIRST  PHANTOM 

Stay!     It  is  enough 
To  live  amid  the  misery  of  today, 

[103] 


THE  DECISION 

Without  this  contemplation  of  the  past. 

What  is  this  sky,  this  earth  to  which  we  come? 

This  nothingness,  this  substance,  air  and  rock 

Which  to  our  life  is  hard  reality 

And  to  our  thought  a  dream?     All  nature  sings, 

Creates,  rejoices,  man  alone  has  life 

In  pain  as  life,  unfolding  life  as  pain, 

As  if  a  child  could  live  but  never  be 

Delivered  from  the  womb.     And  for  myself 

What  am  I  but  a  creature,  heart  and  head, 

Hands  reaching  up  to  catch  at  rock  or  bough? 

Hands,  heart  and  head  of  flesh,  immortal  fire, 

With  feet  unshapen,  still  a  part  of  earth 

Where  from  that  undistinguished  mass  of  clay 

Hands,  heart  and  head  would  pluck  them?     I  could  faint, 

Fly  from  the  task  before  me  but  for  this: 

The  will  which  when  confronted  bares  its  face 

And  says  go  on,  or  lie  down  with  the  beasts 

In  silence  and  corruption.     Let  me  look 

No  more  upon  this  sea ! 

SECOND  PHANTOM 

Where  shall  we  go? 

FIRST  PHANTOM 
To  some  place  less  disquieting,  more  secure. 

(They  leave  the  heights  and  descend, 
approaching  a  mysterious  place 
inhere  hecn^en  and  earth  are  connected  by  gates.) 
[104] 


THE  DECISION 

FIRST  PHANTOM 
I  can  no  further  walk  or  fly. 

SECOND  PHANTOM 
You  enter  at  these  gates  near  by. 

FIRST  PHANTOM 
I  fall  through  space.     Your  hand,  my  friend. 

SECOND  PHANTOM 
Quietly  like  a  star  descend. 

(They  pass  through  the  gates  into  a  meadow.) 

FIRST  PHANTOM 
What  is  this  meadow  which  I  see? 

SECOND  PHANTOM 
Here  come  the  souls  of  men  to  be. 
Can  you  remember  what  you  said 
Among  the  living  and  the  dead : 
I  would  know  heaven's  deepest  law 
And  flood  the  world  of  men  with  light, 
I  would  bring  justice  and  be  just. 

FIRST  PHANTOM 
Out  of  each  soul's  prenatal  night 
Something  of  what  you  say  returns. 
The  soul  descending  into  dust 
Loses  its  memory  as  it  burns 
Less  brightly  when  the  spirit  wanes. 
[-05] 


THE  DECISION 

SECOND  PHANTOM 
Behold  that  pillar  of  splendor  shining 
And  bound  to  earth  and  heaven  by  chains! 
You  see  the  distaff  to  it  fixed 
And  in  the  distaff  whorls  of  iron, 
Each  rising  to  a  higher  rim, 
And  on  each  whirling  rim  a  siren 
Chants,  as  you  hear,  her  solemn  hymn. 

FIRST  PHANTOM 
I  hear  it  with  the  singing  mixed 
Of  one  upon  whose  giant  knee 
The  distaff  turns  to  hands  that  reach 
From  thrones  which  stand  at  equal  spaces. 

SECOND  PHANTOM 
The  giant  is  Necessity, 
The  Fates  are  reaching  from  the  thrones 

FIRST  PHANTOM 

Such  garlands  for  such  darkened  faces! 
What  are  these  solemn  monotones, 
Which  are  not  music,  are  not  speech? 

SECOND  PHANTOM 
They  labor  through  Eternity. 
The  Universe  of  visible  things 
Turns  with  the  distaff  here  again. 
The  dead  come  back  with  questionings 

[106] 


THE  DECISION 

Of  earthly  failure,  loss  or  pain, 
And  would  choose  better  than  before. 
Some  say  that  Agamemnon  chose 
The  loneliness  of  eagle  wings 
In  hatred  of  his  mortal  woes. 

FIRST  PHANTOM 

From  dreams  like  these  I  must  be  free!     I  know, 
Dread  phantom,  you  are  nothing  but  myself. 
You  stand  before  me  lately,  mocking  elf, 
Too  much,  and  follow  me  where'er  I  go. 
What  this  portends  I  know  not,  death  I  fear. 
But  what  seems  just  to  do  I  shall  perform. 
A  nation's  destiny  is  mine  to  steer, 
A  people's  hope  is  on  me  in  the  storm. 
Behind  these  voices  when  they  sing  or  laugh 
I  hear  the  droning  of  the  telegraph : 
Come !     I  would  study  now  the  last  dispatches. 

SECOND  PHANTOM 

No  meaning  it  is  clear  your  soul  attaches 
To  thrones,  or  sirens,  or  the  giant  knees. 
You  have  not  fixed  upon  a  policy. 

FIRST  PHANTOM 
I  shall  be  guided — 

SECOND  PHANTOM 

By  necessity — 


THE  DECISION 

FIRST  PHANTOM 
Well,  yes,  but  by  the  will  of  God  as  well. 

SECOND  PHANTOM 
How  can  you  tell  it  from  the  will  .of  hell? 

(Voices  from  the  thrones.) 

FIRST  THRONE 
Here  I  sit  spinning 
From  what  beginning 
Did  I  begin? 

SECOND  THRONE 
Give  me  the  thread ! 
I  will  assign  him 
Grief  to  refine  him, 
Thorns  for  his  head. 
Toil  never  ending 
Up  from  his  birth 
This  shall  be  leaven 
To  lift  him  from  earth 
Up  into  heaven. 

(Many  souls  are  crowded  into 
the  meadow.     A  figure  takes 
from  the  lap  of  Lachesis  lots 
and  scatters  them.) 

SECOND  PHANTOM 
Who  honors  heaven,  heaven  wins. 
[108] 


THE  DECISION 

Not  here  your  fate  on  earth  begins. 
I  only  show  you  where  you  stood 
Amid  the  fates  and  now  your  work 
Of  justice  and  of  brotherhood. 
You're  weary,  yet  you  cannot  shrink 
The  task  assumed — how  it  increases! 
A  giant  hand  thrust  in  releases 
The  numbered  lots  of  mortal  life, 
There  from  the  apron  of  Lachesis, 
And  throws  them  to  the  multitude 
Awaiting  mortal  strife. 

SECOND  THRONE 

One  fluttered  to  his  hand.     He  ran 
Between  the  thrones,  the  distaff  under 
Which  swayed  and  rolled  upon  her  knees. 
The  chains  that  bound  it  clanked  and  creaked. 
The  far-off  depths  the  lightening  streaked 
Uprolled  the  deep  symphonic  thunder 
Which  rumbled  like  a  chariot,  till 
Its  echoes  died  and  all  was  still, 
Save  for  the  tinkling  pipe  and  purl 
As  faster  sped  the  seventh  whorl. 
We  nodded,  laughing  at  the  game, 
And  said:     He's  dreaming  Pericles 
Who  gave  his  soul  to  ancient  Greece. 
What  will  he  do  with  such  a  name? 

SECOND  PHANTOM 
Do  you  remember? 

[109] 


THE  DECISION 

FIRST  PHANTOM 

I  remember 

A  dream  I  had  in  early  youth : 
My  birth  was  humble,  still  I  dreamed 
To  consecrate  my  life  to  Truth 
And  for  the  truth  to  be  esteemed. 
I  love  the  Republic,  I  would  see 
Its  soil  and  all  its  people  free! 

(The  Furies  enter.) 

THE  THRONES 

Heaven  and  God  are  under  us.     Reveal 
We  never  may  what  end  the  law  achieves. 
He  shall  be  free  who  with  increasing  zeal 
Still  labors  and  believes. 

THE  FURIES 

You  may  deceive  this  fellow  with  such  stuff; 
We  have  seen  history  woven  long  enough 
To  know  the  good  men  plan  at  least  by  half 
Results  in  evil. 

THE  THRONES 

Be  the  epitaph 

Of  him  who  moulds  his  being  by  this  thought: 
"He  doubted,  failure  marked  the  work  he  wrought." 

THE  FURIES 

What  is  the  law,  then,  that  he  must  obey? 
[110] 


THE  DECISION 

THE  THRONES 
The  law  that  has  most  universal  sway. 

THE  FURIES 
What  may  that  be?     Is  it  to  choose  the  good? 

THE  THRONES 
You  know  his  dream  of  human  brotherhood. 

THE  FURIES 

He  must  seize  power  such  dreams  to  realize. 
In  usurpation  great  corruption  lies. 

FIRST  PHANTOM 

What  is  this  shape  I  deal  with  ?    It  is  whole, 
Inseparable  forever,  with  a  soul. 
It  is  a  life  of  undivided  breath. 
To  break  its  body  is  to  give  it  death. 

THE  FURIES 
There  might  be  two  souls  where  before  was  one. 

FIRST  PHANTOM 

From  heaven's  battlements  a  clarion 
Shivers  the  mystic  chords  of  memory, 
Stretched  forth  from  every  grave  and  battle-field, 
My  life  may  pay  the  forfeit — let  it  be. 
Destroy  me  if  you  will,  I  shall  not  yield 
To  anarch  forces. 


THE  DECISION 

THE  FURIES 

Then  by  tyranny 

You'll  break  the  giants  if  they  dare  rebel. 
Men  through  the  giants  only  may  be  free. 
Destroy  them  or  enchain  them  and  you  quell 
The  Titan  powers  by  whom  there  came 
Freedom's  Promethean  flame. 

THE  THRONES 
Whence  is  the  Voice, 
Which  sings  the  eternal  theme 
Of  giants  whirled 

Beneath  the  thunderbolts  of  Strength  supreme; 
Of  angels  who  have  made  the  fateful  choice, 
From  heaven  headlong  hurled? 
Of  Odin,  in  Valhalla,  keeping  guard 
Against  the  malice  of  the  giant  world, 
Slaying  the  mighty  Ymir? 
And  what  was  their  reward 
Who  warred  upon  the  Thunderer 
For  sovereignty  for  pity  of  mankind? — 
Go  bear  in  pain  the  burden  of  the  earth, 
Or  under  mountains  blind 
Breathe  hateful  fire, 
Or  moan  your  agony  and  fallen  wrath 
Chained  to  the  rocks, 

So  shall  thought  rule,  not  force,  or  their  desire 
Which  is  the  law  of  music  not  of  bread 
Or  lower  ordinance.     Do  you  now  tread, 

[112] 


THE  DECISION 

Mortal,  the  path  of  service  to  the  race? 
Do  you  bring  fire,  or  quell  disharmony, 
Destroy  the  Titans?     In  all  time  and  space 
Freedom  is  only  for  the  wise  and  free! 

THE  THRONES 

A  hand  like  lightning  from  a  thunder  cloud 
Reaches  from  heaven  to  the  apron's  folds, 
And  takes  the  inscrutable  lots, 
And  scatters  them  among  the  spectral  crowd. 
On  them  are  written  labors,  wars  and  plots. 
Thus  are  they  thrown,  like  snow  they  fall  where'er 
They  may  be  driven  by  the  unseen  air, 
Which  moves  so  thinly  here  no  eye  beholds 
Its  coming  and  its  going.     They  shall  fall 
Where  chance  may  govern.     Look !    These  two  shall  find 
Their  fate  and  incarnation,  work  above 
This  meadow  under  earth.     Not  wholly  blind 
Shall  they  select  the  soul  they  would  be  like- 
That  they  may  will  in  part — the  rest  shall  be 
Ruled  by  the  working  of  a  destiny 
Of  our  appointing  when  the  hour  shall  strike 
Commissioned  under  seal  to  say  "Arise 
The  hour  has  struck." 

FIRST  PHANTOM 

My  other  self,  your  hand. 

SECOND  PHANTOM 
We  must  be  one,  not  two. 


THE  DECISION 

FIRST  PHANTOM 
We  must  not  stand 

In   sticnuth.   intentions,   visions  separate. 
(  The  ttcn  phantoms  hccnmc  one.} 

Tm   THRONES 

(  >  Mnil.  now  one  \\luVh  just  before  \\.is  two, 
What  is  your  deepest  lo\e? 

THE  PHANTOM 

It  is  the  True. 

I  love  the  Right,  the  Good,  confederate 
And  in  this  order,  ruling,  not  apart: 
If  this  may  he,  mind,  conscience,  heart 
In  harmony  and  balanced    equipoise, 
1  would  pottett,  and  I  \\ould  have  a  voice 
To  sway  with  truth. 

Tin-  TMROM  s 
Choose  then  O  soul  your  fate! 

THE  PHANTOM 
Down  bending  I  obey.     What  have  I  done? 

FIRST  THRONE 
Come  Destiny  and  oxeiuatch  your  son. 

Tin    DESTINY 

Hebold    I    lo\ed   and   kept   the  public  good 
Forever  in  my  eye      At  my  command 

main    armies,  cities,  islands,  realms 
Which  I  ruled  over  with  a  master  hand. 


THE  DECISION 

And  where  I  could  not  lead  by  gentle  word 
I  forced  compliance,  so  my  power  withstood 
Internal  quarrels  and  the  foreign  sword. 
But  when  I  left  the  life  of  earth  they  came 
Around  my  bed,  a  worthy  group,  and  spoke 
My  trophies  and  authority  and  fame. 
Not  one  took  notice  of  my  greatest  deeds: 
No  father's  heart  for  my  fault  ever  broke, 
Nor  wailing  woman  tore  her  widow's  weeds. 
Law,  Freedom,  Progress,  Virtue,  Beauty,  Truth, 
Humility,  Religion,  Knowledge  lay 
Along  the  pathway  of  my  city's  youth. 
Ill  fortune  forced  imperial  temptation 
And  these  divided  even  by  heaven  sundered 
Leaving  to  Empire  and  to  Riches  sway 
O'er  Beauty,  Knowledge,  Progress,  till  the  day 
Of  hatred,  envy,  bitter  disputation, 
All  good  was  sunk.     Its  walls  and  temples  thundered, 
My  city  on  the  hill  was  crushed  and  fell 
Through  lust  of  riches,  from  its  elevation. 
Study  my  problem  and  my  spirit  well. 
Yours  are  not  greatly  different — beware 
Great  riches  for  your  country-  lest  they  come 
With  weakness  and  debasement  for  a  snare. 
And  to  this  end  curb  studied  greed  and  those 
Spirits  luxurious,  and  adventuresome, 
And  those  unjust,  their  hatred,  guile  oppose. 
Right  is  a  thing  'twixt  equals,  and  the  strong 
Do  what  they  can,  the  weak  must  suffer  wrong. 
t"5] 


THE  DECISION 

Therefore  the  balance  hold  for  all,  assuage 
The  fury  and  revenge  which  yet  may  rage 
Around  your  fallen  brothers,  wheq  you  ride 
Triumphant. 

SECOND  THRONE 

Now  conduct  him  to  our  side 
Beneath  the  distaff  in  my  hand. 
Thus  is  his  fate  forever  ratified. 

(The  Image  Passes.) 

THIRD  THRONE 

Now  hither  bring  him, — thus  I  breathe  my  spell. 
His  doom  is  now  made  irreversible. 

THE  THRONE  OF  NECESSITY 
Pass  under  me.     Now  of  this  cup  drink  deep. 
There,  he  has  drunk  it  and  so  falls  in  sleep. 
Now  guard  him,  Destiny! 

(A  sound  of  cannon.     Lincoln  awakes.     The  Secre 
tary  of  War  enters.) 

THE  SECRETARY  OF  WAR 
Fort  Sumter  has  been  fired  on! 

LINCOLN 

Call  the  troops! 

[116] 


PART  III 

LINCOLN  MAKES  A  MEMORANDUM 
(November  2 3rd,  1864.) 

"The  will  of  God  prevails.  In  great  contests  each 
party  claims  to  act  in  accordance  with  the  will  of  God. 
Both  may  be,  and  one  must  be  wrong.  God  cannot  be 
for  and  against  the  same  thing  at  the  same  time.  In  the 
present  Civil  War  it  is  quite  possible  that  God's  purpose 
is  something  different  from  the  purpose  of  either  party; 
and  yet  the  human  instrumentalities,  working  just  as 
they  do,  are  of  the  best  adoption  to  effect  his  purpose. 
I  am  almost  ready  to  say  that  this  is  probably  true;  that 
God  wills  this  contest,  and  wills  that  it  shall  not  end  yet. 
By  hif  "nere  great  power  on  the  minds  of  the  now  con 
testants  he  could  have  either  saved  or  destroyed  the 
Union  without  a  human  contest.  Yet  the  contest  began. 
And  having  begun  he  could  give  the  final  victory  to 
either  side  any  day.  Yet  the  contest  proceeds." 


WINTER  GARDEN  THEATRE 

(New  York,  November  2 3rd,   1864.)      JOHN   WILKES 
BOOTH  is  speaking  behind  the  scenes  to  his  brother.) 

If  you — if  you  had  told  me  this  before, 

If  I  had  known  of  it — if  I  had  known, 

I  had  not  played  to-night,  no,  by  the  gods, 

I  had  not  played  Marc  Antony,  nor  heard 

You  speak  the  words  of  Brutus.     You — my  brother, 

You  nursed  in  liberty — you  nourished  upon 

Great  thoughts  and  dreams,  have  soiled  me,  soiled  the 

name 

Of  Booth,  our  father's  name.     Yes,  you  have  soiled 
All  spirits  free,  all  lofty  souls,  the  soul 
Of  Brutus  and  of  Shakespeare.     Why,  till  now 
Conceal  from  me  your  vote  for  Lincoln — why  ? 
Why?     In  your  heart  of  hearts  you  are  ashamed, 
And  loose  the  secret  now  for  penitence! 
For  you  have  helped  the  hand  that  wrecks  and  slays 
Who  will  be  king  and  on  these  ruined  States 
Erect  a  throne.     He  who  commenced  this  war, 
And  broke  the  law  to  do  it.     He  who  struck 
The  liberty  of  speech  and  of  the  press; 
He  who  tore  up  the  ancient  writ  of  freemen, 
[118] 


WINTER  GARDEN  THEATRE 

And  filled  the  jails  against  the  law.     Lincoln! 

Into  whose  ears  the  shrieks  of  horror  rise 

From  Gettysburg,  Manassas — yet  who  says 

The  will  of  God  be  done,  for  him  you  vote! 

And  walk  these  boards  to-night  and  live  the  soul 

Of  Brutus,  speak  his  words — Oh!     "Had  you  rather 

Caesar  were  living  and  die  all  slaves  than 

That  Caesar  were  dead  to  live  all  freemen."     God! 

You  had  this  secret  in  your  breast  the  while: 

This  vote  for  Lincoln,  and  these  words  of  Brutus 

Blown  from  the  Shakespeare  trumpet  to  our  ears, 

Hearts,  consciences,  meant  what  to  you — meant  what? 

Words  for  an  actor,  words  for  a  lisping  girl 

Repeating  them  by  rote!     But  why  not  truth 

For  men  to  live  by,  to  be  taken  into 

The  beings  of  men  for  living?    Oh,  my  God — 

I  hate  you  and  I  leave  you.     I  shall  never 

Look  on  your  face  again! 


THE  SPARROW  HAWK  IN  THE  RAIN 

(ALEXANDER  STEPHENS  hears  news.) 
(Liberty  Hall,  April  Qth,  1865.) 

That's  done!     And  well,  I'd  rather  not  have  gone 

To  take  such  news.    But  now  I'm  glad  you  picked  me — 

I  saw  and  heard  him.     I  was  ushered  in, 

And  after  hems  and  haws,  I  said  at  last, 

"Lee  has  surrendered." 

What  a  face  he  had 

When  I  said  that:     "Lee  has  surrendered."     Once, 
When  I  was  just  a  boy,  I  shot  a  sparhawk, 
Just  tore  his  breast  away,  and  did  not  kill  him. 
He  hopped  up  to  a  twig  and  perched,  I  peered 
Through  bushes  for  my  victim — there  he  was 
His  breast  shot  all  away,  so  I  could  see 
His  heart  a-beating — but  the  sparhawk's  eyes 
Were  bright  as  dew,  with  pain  !     I  thought  of  this 
When  I  saw  Alec  Stephens,  said  to  him, 
"Lee  has  surrendered." 

There  the  midget  sat 
His  face  as  wrinkled  as  thin  cream,  as,  yellow 

[120] 


THE  SPARROW  HAWK  IN  THE  RAIN 

As  squirrel  skin — But  ah,  that  piercing  eye! 
As  restless  as  my  sparhawk's,  not  with  moving 
But  just  with  light,  such  pained  uneasiness. 
So  there  he  sat,  a  thin,  pale,  little  man, 
Wrapped  in  a  monstrous  cloak,  as  wide  and  dark 
As  his  own  melancholy — I  shed  tears 
For  such  soul  sickness,  sorrow  and  such  eyes, 
That  breast  all  shot  away,  that  heart  exposed 
For  eyes  to  see  it  beat,  those  burning  eyes! 

I  stood  there  with  my  hat  within  my  hand, 
Said:     "Mr.  Stephens,  I  have  come  to  tell  you, 
Lee  has  surrendered."     He  just  looked  at  me 
Then  in  a  thin,  cracked  voice  he  said  at  once, 
"It  had  to  come."     That's  all,  "It  had  to  come." 
"Pray  have  a  seat,"  he  added.     For  you  see 
He's  known  me  for  some  years,  I  am  his  friend. 
"It  had  to  come."     He  only  said  that  once. 
Then,  after  silence,  he  chirped  up  again: 
"I  knew  when  I  came  back  from  Hampton  Roads 
It  soon  'would  be.     Home-coming  is  the  thing 
When  all  is  over  in  the  world  you've  loved, 
And  worked  with.     And  this  Liberty  Hall  is  good. 
My  sleeplessness  is  not  so  tiring  here, 
My  pain  more  tolerable,  and  as  for  thought, 
That  goes  on  anywhere,  and  thought  is  life, 
And  while  I  think,  I  live." 

He  paused  a  minute, 

I  took  a  seat,  enthralled  with  what  he  said, 
[121] 


THE  SPARROW  HAWK  IN  THE  RAIN 

A  sparhawk  in  the  rain,  breast  torn  away, 

His  beating  heart  in  view,  his  burning  eyes! 

"But  everyone  will  see,  the  North  will  see, 

Our  cause  was  theirs,  the  South's  cause  was  the  cause 

Of  everyone  both  north  and  south.    They'll  see 

Their  liberties  not  long  survive  our  own. 

There  is  no  difference,  and  cannot  be 

Between  empire,  consolidation,  none 

Between   imperialism,  centralism,  none!" 

I  saw  he  was  disposed  to  talk,  let  fall 

My  hat  upon  the  floor.     There  in  that  cloak 

All  huddled  like  a  child  he  sat  and  talked 

In  that  thin  voice.     Bent  over,  hands  on  knees, 

I  listened  like  a  man  bewitched. 

He  said: 

"As  I  am  sick,  cannot  endure  the  strain 

Of  practice  at  the  bar,  am  face  to  face 

With  silence  after  thunder,  after  war, 

This  terrifying  calm,  and  after  days 

Top  full  of  problems,  duties  in  my  place 

In  the  South,  vice-president,  adviser, 

Upon  insoluble  things,  now  after  these 

I  cannot  sit  here  idle,  so  I  plan 

To  write  a  book.     For,  if  I  tell  the  truth, 

My  book  will  live,  will  be  a  shaft  of  granite 

Which  guns  can  never  batter.     First,  perhaps, 

I'll  have  to  go  to  prison,  let  it  be. 

The  North  is  now  a  maniac — here  I  am, 

[122] 


THE  SPARROW  HAWK  IN  THE  RAIN 

Easy  to  capture,  but  I'll  think  in  prison, 
Perhaps  they'll  let  me  write,  but  anyway 
I'll  try  to  write  a  book  and  answer  questions. 

"A  soldier  at  Manassas  shot  to  death 
Asked,  as  he  died,  'What  is  it  all  about?' 
Thousands  of  boys,  I  fancy,  asked  the  same 
Dying:  at  Petersburg  and  Antietam, 
Cold  Harbor,  Gettysburg.     I'll  answer  them. 
I'll  dedicate  the  book  to  all  true  friends 
Of  Liberty  wherever  they  may  be, 
Especially  to  those  with  eyes  to  look 
Upon  a  federation  of  free  states  as  means 
Surest  and  purest  to  preserve  mankind 
Against  the  monarch  principle." 

Just  then 

A  darkey  came  to  bring  him  broth,  he  drank 
And  I  arose  to  go.     He  waved  his  hand 
And  asked  me:     "Would  you  like  to  hear  about 
The  book  I  plan  to  write?" 

I  longed  to  stay 

And  hear  him  talk,  but  feared  to  tire  him  out. 
I  hinted  this,  he  smiled  a  little  smile 
And  said:     "If  I'm  alone,  I  think,  and  thought 
Without  you  talk  it  out  is  like  a  hopper 
That  is  not  emptied  and  may  overflow, 
Or  choke  the  grinding  stones.     Be  seated,  sir, 
If  you  would  please  to  listen." 
[123] 


THE  SPARROW  HAWK  IN  THE  RAIN 

So  I  stayed. 

When  he  had  drunk  the  broth,  he  settled  back 
To  talk  to  me  and  tell  me  of  his  book, 
A  sparhawk,  as  I  said,  with  burning  eyes! 
"First  I  will  show  the  nature  of  the  league, 
The  compact,  constitution,  the  republic 
Called  federative  even  by  Washington. 
I  only  sketch  the  plan  to  you.     Take  this: 
States  make  the  Declaration,  therefore  states 
Existed  at  the  time  to  make  it.     States 
Signed  up  the  Articles  of  Confederation 
In  seventeen  seventy-eight,  and  to  what  end? 
Why  for  'perpetual  union.'    Was  it  so? 
No,  nine  years  after,  states,  the  very  same 
Withdrew,  seceded  from  'perpetual  union* 
Under  the  Articles  and  acceded  to, 
Ratified,  what  you  will,  the  Constitution, 
And  formed  not  a  'perpetual  union'  but 
'More  perfect  union.' 

"If  there  is  a  man 

Or  ever  was  more  gifted  with  the  power 
Of  cunning  words  that  reach  the  heart  than  Lincoln, 
I  do  not  know  him.     Don't  you  see  it  wins, 
Captures  the  swelling  feelings  to  declare 
The  Union  older  than  the  states? — it's  false, 
But  Lincoln  says  it.     Here's  another  strain 
That  moves  the  mob:     'The  Constitution  has 
No  word  providing  for  its  own  destruction, 


THE  SPARROW  HAWK  IN  THE  RAIN 

The  ending  of  the  government  thereunder.' 
This  Lincoln  is  a  sophist,  and  in  truth 
With  all  this  moral  cry  against  the  curse 
Of  slavery  and  these  arguments  of  Lincoln 
We  were  put  down,  just  as  a  hue  and  cry 
Will  stifle  Reason ;  but  you  can  be  sure 
Reason  will  have  her  way  and  punishment 
Will  fall  for  her  betrayal. 

"Let  us  see: 

'Was  there  provisions  in  the  Articles 
Of  that  perpetual  union  for  the  end 
Of  that  perpetual  union?     Not  at  all! 
How  did  these  states  then  end  it?     By  seceding 
To  form  a  better  one!     Is  there  provision 
For  getting  out,  withdrawing  from  the  Union 
Formed  by  the  Constitution?     No!     Why  not? 
Could  not  states  do  what  they  had  done  before, 
Leave  'a  more  perfect  union,'  as  they  left 
'Perpetual  union?'    What's  a  state  in  fact? 
A  state's  a  sovereign,  look  in  Vattell,  look 
In  any  great  authority.     So  a  sovereign 
May  take  back  what  it  delegated,  mark  you, 
Not  what  it  deeded,  parted  with,  but  only 
Delegated.     In  regard  to  that 
All  powers  not  delegated  were  reserved. 
Well,  to  resume,  no  word  is  in  the  charter 
To  end  the  charter.     And  a  contract  has 
No  word  to  end  it  by,  how  do  you  end  it  ? 
You  end  it  by  rescinding,  when  one  party 


THE  SPARROW  HAWK  IN  THE  RAIN 

Has  broken  it.     Is  this  a  contract,  compact? 

Even  the  mighty  Webster  said  it  was. 

And  further,  if  the  Northern  States,  he  said, 

Refuse  to  carry  in  effect  the  part 

Respecting  restoration  of  fugitive  slaves, 

The  South  would  be  no  longer  bound  to  keep — 

What  did  he  say?     the  compact,  that's  the  word! 

Next  then,  what  caused  the  war?     I'll  show  and  prove 

It  was  not  slavery  of  the  blacks,  but  slavery 

The  North  would  force  on  us.     For  seventy  years 

Fierce,  bitter  conflict  waged  between  the  forces 

Of  those  who  would  maintain  the  Federal  form, 

And  those  who  would  absorb  in  the  Federal  head 

All  power  of  government ;  between  the  forces 

Of  sovereignty  in  the  people  and  control, 

And  sovereignty  in  a  central  hand.     Why,  look, 

No  sooner  was  the  perfect  union  formed 

Than  monarchists  began  to  play  their  arts 

Through  tariffs,  banks,  assumption  bills,  the  Act 

That  made  the  Federal  Courts.     And  none  of  these 

Had  warrant  in  the  charter;  yet  you  see 

They  overleaped  its  bounds.     And  so  it  was 

To  make  all  clear,  explicit,  when  we  framed 

For  these  Confederate  States  our  charter,  we 

Forbade  expressly  tariffs,  meant  to  foster 

Industrial  adventures. 

"No,  my  friend, 
Our  slavery  was  not  the  cause  of  war. 


THE  SPARROW  HAWK  IN  THE  RAIN 

They  would  have  Empire  and  the  slavery 
That  comes  from  it:  unlicensed  power  to  deal 
With  fortunes,  lives,  economies  and  rights. 
We  fought  them  in  the  Congress  seventy  years; 
We  fought  them  at  the  hustings,  with  the  ballot; 
And  when  they  shouldered  guns,  we  shouldered  guns, 
And  fought  them  to  the  last — now  we  have  lost, 
And  so  I  write  my  book. 

"What  is  the  difference 
Between  a  mob,  an  army  shouting  God, 
Fired  by  a  moral  erethism  fixed 
On  slaughter  for  the  triumph  of  its  dream, 
A  riddance  of  its  hate— what  is  the  difference 
Between  an  army  like  this  and  a  man 
Who  dreams  God  moves,  inspires  him  to  an  act 
Of  foul  assassination  ?    None  at  all ! 
Why,  there's  your  Northern  army  shouting  God, 
Your  pure  New  England  with  its  tariff  spoils, 
Its  banks  and  growing  wealth,  uplifting  hands, 
Invoking  God  against  us  till  they  flame 
A  crazy  party  and  a  maddened  army, 
To  war  upon  us.     But  if  slavery 
Be  sinful,  where's  the  word  of  Christ  to  say 
That  slavery  is  sinful?     Not  a  word 
From  him  who  scourged  the  Scribes  and  Pharisees 
For  robbing  widows'  houses,  but  no  word 
Against  the  sin  of  slavery.     Yet  behold 
He  found  no  faith  in  all  of  Israel 
[127] 


THE  SPARROW  HAWK  IN  THE  RAIN 

To  equal  that — of  whom? — a  man  who  owned 
Slaves,  as  we  did.    I  mean  the  Centurion. 
And  is  this  all?     St.  Paul  who  speaks  for  God 
With  equal  inspiration  with  New  England, 
As  I  should  judge,  enjoins  the  slaves  to  count 
Their  masters  worthy  of  all  honor,  that 
God  and  his  doctrine  be  not  blasphemed. 

"But 

If  it  be  wrong  to  hold  as  property 

A  service,  even  a  man  to  keep  the  service — 

Let  us  be  clear  and  fair — then  is  it  wrong 

To  hold  indentures  of  apprenticeship? 

And  if,  as  Lincoln  says,  it  is  a  right 

Given  of  God  for  every  man  to  have, 

Eat  if  he  will  the  bread  he  earns,  then  God 

Is  blasphemed  in  the  North  where  labor's  paid 

Not  what  it  earns,  but  what  it  must  accept, 

Chained  by  necessity,  and  so  enslaved. 

And  all  these  tariff  laws  are  slavery 

By  which  my  bread  is  taken,  all  the  banks 

That  profit  by  their  issues,  special  rights, 

Enslave  us,  in  the  future  will  enslave 

Both  North  and  South,  when  darkeys  shall  be  free 

To  choose  their  masters,  but  must  choose,  no  less 

Take  what  the  master  hand  consents  to  pay, 

And  eat  what  bread  is  given.     Yes,  you  know 

Our  slavery  was  a  gentle  thing,  belied 

As  bloody,  sullen,  selfish — yet  you  know 


THE  SPARROW  HAWK  IN  THE  RAIN 

It  was  a  gentle  thing,  a  way  to  keep 

A  race  inferior  in  a  place  of  work, 

Duly  controlled.     For  once  that  race  is  freed 

It  will  go  forth  to  mingle,  mix  and  wed 

With  whites  and  claim  equality,  the  ballot, 

Places  of  trust  and  profit,  judgment  seats. 

Lincoln  denies  he  favors  this,  no  less 

We'll  come  to  that.     And  all  the  while  the  mills 

And  factories  in  the  North  will  bring  to  us 

The  helpless  poor  of  Europe,  and  enslave  them 

By  pauper  wages,  and  enslave  us  all 

With  tar  iff- favored  products.    Slavery! 

God's  curse  is  on  us  for  our  Slavery! 

What  do  you  think? 

"They  say  we  broke  the  law, 
Were  rebels,  insurrectionists;  I'll  treat 
Those  subjects  in  my  book.     But  let  us  see, 
They  did  not  keep  the  law;  they  had  their  banks, 
They  had  their  tariffs,  they  infracted  laws 
Respecting  slaves  who  ran  away,  they  joined 
Posses  and  leagues  to  break  those  laws,  and  we 
In  virtue  of  these  breaches,  were  released 
From  this,  the  compact,  just  as  Webster  says. 
Did  Lincoln  keep  the  law  and  keep  his  oath 
The  Constitution  to  support,  obey? 
He  did  not  keep  it,  and  he  broke  his  oath. 
Did  he  have  lawful  power  to  call  the  troops? 
Did  he  have  lawful  warrant  to  blockade 

[129] 


THE  SPARROW  HAWK  IN  THE  RAIN 

Our  southern  ports?     No  one  pretends  he  did. 

His  Congress  by  a  special  act  made  valid 

These  tyrant  usurpations.     Had  he  power 

To  strike  the  habeas  corpus,  gag  the  press? — 

No  power  at  all — he  only  seized  the  power 

To  reach  what  he  conceived  was  all  supreme, 

The  saving  of  the  Union — more  of  this. 

Well,  then,  what  are  these  words:    You  break  the  law 

On  those  who  break  it  and  confess  they  do? 

You  have  twro  ideas:     Union  and  Secession, 

Or  two  republics  made  from  one,  that's  all. 

And  those  who  think  secession  criminal 

Turn  criminals  themselves  to  stay  the  crime, 

And  shout  the  Union.    To  this  end  I  come, 

This  figment  called  the  Union,  which  obsessed 

The  brain  of  Lincoln. 

"For  the  point  is  this, 
You  may  take  Truth  or  Liberty  or  Union 
For  a  battle  cry,  kill  and  be  killed  therefor, 
But  if  our  reasons  rule,  if  we  are  men, 
We  take  them  at  our  peril.     We  must  stake 
Our  souls  upon  the  choice,  be  clear  of  mind 
That  what  we  cry  as  Truth  is  Truth  indeed, 
That  Liberty  is  Liberty,  that  the  Union 
Is  not  a  noun,  a  word,  a  subtlety, 
But  is  a  status,  substance,  living  temple 
Reared  from  the  bottom  up  on  stones  of  fate, 
Predestined.     Yet  the  truth  is  only  this: 

[130] 


THE  SPARROW  HAWK  IN  THE  RAIN 

The  Union  is  a  noun  and  nothing  more, 

And  stands  for  what  ?     A  federative  thing 

Formed  of  the  wills  of  states,  not  otherwise. 

Existing;  and  to  kill  to  save  the  Union 

Is  but  the  exercise  of  a  hue  and  cry, 

An  arbitrary  passion,  sophist's  dream. 

And  Robespierre,  who  killed  for  liberty, 

And  Ca?sar,  who  destroyed  the  Roman  liberties 

To  have  his  way,  are  of  the  quality 

Of  Lincoln,  whom  I  know.     Take  Robespierre, 

Was  he  not  by  a  sense  of  justice  moved, 

Pure,  and  as  frigid  as  a  bust  of  stone? 

And  Caesar  had  devoted  friends,  and  Caesar, 

The  accomplished  orator,  general  and  scholar, 

Charming  and  gentle  in  his  private  walks, 

Destroyed  the  hopes  of  Rome. 

"Now,  mark  me  friend, 
I  do  not  think  that  Lincoln  meant  to  crush 
The  institutions  of  his  country — no, 
His  fault  was  this — the  Union,  yes  the  noun, 
Rose  to  religious  mysticism,  and  enthralled 
With  sentiment  his  soul.     And  his  ideas 
Of  its  formation,  structure  in  his  logic 
Rested  upon  a  subtle  solecism. 
And  for  this  noun,  in  spite  of  virtues  great 
Of  head  and  heart,  he  used  his  other  self, 
His  Caesar  self,  his  self  of  Robespierre, 
In  the  great  office  which  he  exercised, 


THE  SPARROW  HAWK  IN  THE  RAIN 

To  bring  us  Oak  Hill,  Corinth,  Fredericksburg. 

Think  you,  if  when  he  kept  the  store  at  Salem 

A  humble,  studious  man,  he  had  been  told 

He  would  make  wails  of  horror,  wake  the  cries 

Of  pestilence  and  famine  in  the  camps, 

Bring  devastation,  rapine,  fire  and  death — 

Had  he  been  told  this,  he  had  said — 'My  soul! 

Never,'  and  with  Hazael  said,  'Behold, 

Is  thy  servant  a  dog,  that  he  should  do  this  thing?' 

Power  changes  men !     And  when  the  people  give 

Power  or  surrender  it,  they  scarcely  know 

The  thing  they  give,  surrender. 

"But  I  ask 

What  is  there  in  the  Union,  what  indeed 
In  any  government's  supremacy 
Or  maintenance  that  justifies  these  acts — 
These  horrors,  slaughters — near  a  million  men 
Slaughtered  for  what?     The  Union.     Treasure  spent 
Beyond  all  counting  for  the  Union.     When 
No  life  had  been  destroyed,  no  dollar  spent 
If  they  had  let  us  go,  left  us  alone 
To  go  our  way.    You  see  they  did  to  us 
What  England  did;  succeeded,  where  she  failed. 
And  thus  you  see  that  human  life  is  cheap, 
And  suffering  a  sequence  when  a  dream, 
An  Idea  takes  a  man,  a  mob,  an  army. 
Which  makes  our  life  a  jest,  our  boasted  Reason 
An  instrument  too  weak  for  savagery. 
Then  for  the  rest — you  see — I  think  you  see. — " 

[132] 


THE  SPARROW  HAWK  IN  THE  RAIN 

Sleep  now  was  taking  him.     My  little  sparhawk 
Was  worn  out,  and  his  eyes  began  to  droop, 
His  voice  to  fail  him.     In  a  moment  then 
He  sank  down  in  his  cloak  and  fell  asleep — 
And  I  arose  and  left. 


ADELAIDE  AND  JOHN  WILKES  BOOTH 
(At  the  National  Hall,  Washington,  April  gth,   1865.) 

ADELAIDE 

Yes,  even  this  you  can  surmount  by  art, 
Lee  has  surrendered,  but — 

BOOTH 

No !    all  is  lost. 

God  judge  me,  right  or  wrong,  but  never  man. 
I  love  peace  more  than  life,  have  loved  the  Union. 
Have  waited  for  the  clouds  to  break,  have  prayed 
For  justice,  peace;  but  now  all  hope  is  dead. 
My  prayers  are  futile,  as  my  hopes  have  been. 
God's  will  be  done.     I  go  to  see  and  share 
The  end,  though  bitter. 

ADELAIDE 

John !  you  must  be  calm. 

BOOTH 
I  am  most  calm,  but  fixed. 

ADELAIDE 

You  are  not  calm ; 

Strange  light  is  in  your  eyes,  your  face  is  pale. 
You  cannot  stretch  your  hands  out  but  they  tremble. 

[134] 


ADELAIDE  AND  JOHN  WILKES  BOOTH 

You  hare  avoided  me,  you  walk  alone, 

Sup,  sit  alone,  lest  concentrated  thought, 

This  thought  of  yours  be  turned  aside.     My  friend, 

Take  Beauty  in  your  heart  to  heal  its  hurts. 

Art  is  for  you.     You  are  a  son  of  Art — 

Why  waste  your  spirit  on  such  things  as  these? 

Rulers  and  nations  pass,  and  wars  are  lost, 

Their  issues  are  forgotten,  pushed  aside — 

Art  is  eternal  and  the  sons  of  Art 

Live  in  its  calm,  above  the  dust  and  sweat 

Of  politics  and  statecraft.    O  my  friend, 

Why  should  this  Brutus,  the  tyrranicide, 

The  patriot,  move  you  so;  and  why  not  Brutus 

As  a  soul  made  clear  by  Shakespeare  for  your  Art 

To  glory  in  and  re-create  for  men 

To  see  what  Brutus  was? 

BOOTH 

Why,  what  is  this 

But  playing  with  life,  that's  all  it  is  to  play, 
Hard  play  at  that,  to  sleep,  to  walk,  to  rest 
For  strength  to  trip  the  stage  and  imitate 
The  soul  of  Brutus!     If  it  be  so  much, 
Art  as  you  say,  to  live  him  on  the  stage, 
What  would  it  be  to  live  him  to  the  life, 
And  do  his  act  in  deed? 

ADELAIDE 

What  do  you  say? 
John,  you  are  mad !     So  that  is  in  your  heart ! 

[us] 


ADELAIDE  AND  JOHN   WILKES  BOOTH 

Look!  pause!  and  muster  all  your  strength  of  mind, 
Forecast,  survey — fly  from  yourself — away — 
Even  for  a  week  withdraw  your  mind  from  this — 
That  you  may  see,  return  with  freshened  mind 
To  look  upon  the  horror  that  you  plot. 
John,  by  the  love  you  woke  in  me  for  beauty 
Of  face  and  genius,  listen,  on  my  knees 
I  ask  you,  pause  and  think! 

BOOTH 

But  I  have  thought. 

I  know  I  shall  be  hated  by  the  North, 
And  doubted  in  the  South,  it  may  be,  yet 
God's  will  be  done.     For  in  a  day  to  come 
My  name  will  shine  as  shines  the  name  of  Brutus, 
Whose  spirit  is  in  me  and  speaks  to  me. 
Could  you  have  seen,  as  I  have  seen,  the  woes 
And  horrors  of  this  war  in  every  state, 
Then  you  would  pray,  as  I  have  prayed,  to  God 
To  give  the  Northern  mind  pity  and  justice, 
And  dry  this  sea  of  blood.    Alas!  my  country! 
What  is  this  trifling  Art  beside  my  country, 
This  rhetoric  spoken,  memorized?     My  friend, 
I  would  have  given  a  thousand  lives  to  see 
My  country  whole,  unbroken.     Even  now} 
I'd  give  my  life  to  see  her  what  she  was, 
Before  this  man,  this  tyrant,  bloody  Caesar, 
This  Caesar  worse  than  Caesar,  who — behold, 

[136] 


ADELAIDE  AND  JOHN   WILKES  BOOTH 

In  the  name  of  God — why,  think  in  the  name  of  God 
Made  her  a  pitiless  sovereignty,  a  force 
As  cold  as  steel,  and  dragged  her  glorious  flag 
Through  cruelty,  oppression,  till  its  stripes 
Are  bloody  gashes  on  the  face  of  heaven. 
How  I  have  loved  that  flag!    How  I  have  longed 
To  see  it  flap  free  from  the  scarlet  mist 
That  spoils  its  glory.     As  for  me,  this  country 
Which  I  loved  as  a  lover  loves  his  bride, 
Seems  now  a  dream!     The  South  has  all  my  love, 
What  has  it  done?     Withdrawn,  and  that  alone, 
From  the  Union  which  was  formed  by  states  withdrawing 
From  the  old  confederacy,  and  leaving  states 
Out  in  the  cold  that  did  not  wish  to  join. 
What  has  the  South  done  that  it  might  not  do 
Under  the  Declaration?     Then  to  think 
That  all  these  tens  of  thousands  of  our  kin, 
Our  blood,  our  brothers,  should  be  massacred 
For  loving  God  and  Liberty,  serving  God. 
And  now  this  day !     The  South  is  crushed  at  last, 
The  negroes  freed  by  what  ? — by  force,  by  force 
Which  John  Brown  used,  and  for  the  which  he  paid 
With  his  damned  neck!     O   Reason!     Adelaide, 
Of  all  men  I  am  sanest,  they  are  mad 
Who  cannot  see  these  truths:    that  slavery 
Is  sanctioned  by  the  Creator,  read  St.  Paul ; 
That  men  may  revolutionize,  as  matter  of  right, 
Secede  from  what  they  have  acceded  to, 
[•37] 


ADELAIDE  AND  JOHN  WILKES  BOOTH 

And  not  be  murdered  for  it.     Do  you  think 

I  have  not  measured  motives,  thoughts?     My  friend, 

I  could  be  happy,  if  I  could  forget 

The  duty  laid  upon  me,  have  the  means 

For  happiness,  so  many  friends  and  you, 

Great  competence  and  fame,  and  greater  fame 

In  store  for  deeper  art.     So  much  for  this ! 

As  for  the  South,  as  citizens,  persons,  love 

The  South  is  not  my  friend.     Then  there's  my  mother, 

Whom  I  adore:    See  what  I  sacrifice: 

Fame,  money,  friends,  my  mother — and  for  what? 

Were  it  the  South,  I  should  not  think  to  act — 

But  it  is  God,  is  Justice,  and  I  love 

God,  Justice,  more  than  wealth  or  fame,  yes  more 

Than  home  or  mother.    All  is  lost  at  last. 

The  South  has  been  erased  and  is  no  more. 

The  Republic  of  the  North  and  South  is  dead, 

Gutted  by  a  guerilla.     Yes,  my  country 

Has  vanished  from  the  earth  and  is  no  more, 

I  have  no  wish  to  live,  my  country  being 

Dead  and  a  stench. 

ADELAIDE 

I  put  my  arms  around  you — 
Be  patient — listen — do  not  thrust  me  off — 
John — 

BOOTH 
You  must  not  hold  me,  Adelaide — farewell. 

[138] 


ADELAIDE  AND  JOHN  WILKES  BOOTH 

ADELAIDE 
John !     John ! 

BOOTH 

God  calls  me — I  obey! 

(He  goes  out.) 


[139] 


BRUTUS  LIVES  AGAIN  IN  BOOTH 
(Ford's  Theatre,  Good  Friday,  April  I4th,  1865.) 

FIRST  STAGE  HAND 
What  time  is  it  ? 

SECOND  STAGE  HAND 

Time  for  the  curtain  nearly. 

FIRST  STAGE  HAND 
There's  Miss  Keene  in  the  wings 

(The  orchestra  starts  up;  the  audience  sings: 

Honor  to  our  soldiers, 

Our  Nation's  greatest  pride, 

Who    'neath    our    Starry    Banner's    folds, 

Have  fought,  have  bled  and  died. 

They're  Nature's  noblest  handiwork, 

No  king  as  proud  as  they. 

God  bless  the  heroes  of  the  land, 

And  cheer  them  on  their  way. 

[HO] 


BRUTUS  LIVES  AGAIN  IN  BOOTH 

Scene  II.     The  White  House. 
Colfax  Oglesby  Lincoln 

LINCOLN 

This  for  you,  Colfax. 

(Hands  him  a  pass) 

Come  in  at  nine  to-morrow. 
I'm  off  soon  for  the  theatre  with  my  wife — 
A  little  party.     Grant  was  going  too; 
Has  changed  his  mind,  goes  north  with  Mrs.  Grant. 
There'll  be  an  audience  to  see  the  hero 
Of  Appomatox. 

OGLESBY 

Well,  rather  you,  I  think 

Who  picked  Grant  for  the  work,  and  brought  the  war 
To  end,  as  it  has  ended. 

LINCOLN 

Oh,  not  me. 

I  am  familiar  as  an  old  shoe  here. 
I'd  say  the  war  is  ending.     There  may  be 
Some  battle  yet. 

COLFAX 

Mere  sputterings  of  the  flame. 

LINCOLN 

Well,  something's  on.     I  h::d  my  dream  last  night 
Which  I  have  had  before,  so  often,  always 

[HI] 


BRUTUS  LIVES  AGAIN  IN  BOOTH 

Before  some  great  event:    I'm  in  a  boat, 

And  swiftly  move  toward  a  shadowy  shore. 

I  had  this  dream  preceding  Bull  Run,  Vicksburg, 

Gettysburg,  Antietam.    It  may  be 

A  battle's  on  this  minute.     I  think  so. 

It  must  relate  to  Sherman.     For  I  know 

No  other  great  event  to  follow  my  dream. 

OGLESBY 

Our  dreams  are  made  of  days  lived  long  ago: 
Your  boat's  perhaps  your  flat  boat  at  New  Salem. 

COLFAX 

I'm  happy  to  live  now,  the  war  is  won. 

God  bless  you,  Mr.  President,  keep  you  too. 

LINCOLN 

You  will  excuse  me,  gentlemen.     I  gq, 
For  Mrs.  Lincoln  waits. 

(He  goes  out.) 

OGLESBY 

The  other  day 

Lincoln  was  with  Charles  Sumner  down  the  James, 
Was  reading  Shakespeare,  read  aloud  three  times 
Those  lines  which  read :  "Duncan  is  in  his  grave, 
After  life's  fitful  fever  he  sleeps  well; 
Treason  has  done  his  worst:     nor  steel  nor  poison, 
Malice  domestic,  foreign  levy,  nothing 
Can  touch  him  further." 


BRUTUS  LIVES  AGAIN  IN  BOOTH 

COLFAX 

Did  you  note  to-night 
He    looked    those    words:     "Nothing    can    touch    him 

further"5 

These  months  before  how  ghastly  gray  his  face! 
What  droop  of  melancholy  in  his  eyes! 
What  weariness  without  words,  what  ultimate  woe! 
And  now  to-night  he  stood  transfigured  here 
Clothed  in    a  great  serenity  and  a  joy 
As  if  his  life  had  wrought  what  he  would  have  it. 

OGLESBY 
Yes,  he  is  changed.     Shall  we  go  on  ? 

(They  go  out.) 

Scene  III.     The  entrance  of  Ford's  Theatre. 

BOOTH 

(Passing  the  doorkeeper  without  a  ticket.) 
Is  this  all  right? 

DOORKEEPER 

All  right  for  you. 

BOOTH 

Can  you  leave, 
Go  with  me  for  a  brandy? 

DOORKEEPER 

No. 
[143] 


BRUTUS  LIVES  AGAIN  IN  BOOTH 

BOOTH 

Why  not? 
The  play's  commenced,   and  everyone  is  here. 

DOORKEEPER 
Not  everyone — the  presidential  party! 

BOOTH 
They  enter  without  tickets. 

DOORKEEPER 

Yes,  I  know. 

Go  in  and  watch  Miss  Keene  a  little,  John. 
You  might  get  wakened  up  to  play  again, 
Marc  Antony  to  your  brother's  Brutus. 

BOOTH 

No! 

Never  with  him  again.     And  as  for  that 
My  next  part  will  be  Brutus. 

(He  goes  into  the  theatre.) 

Scene  IV.     Lincoln  and  Mrs.   Lincoln  Driving  to   the 
Theatre. 

LINCOLN 

Mary,  the  war  is  over.     We  have  had 
Hard  times  since  we  came  here.     But  now,  thank  God, 


BRUTUS  LIVES  AGAIN  IN  BOOTH 

The  war  is  over.     We  may  hope  for  peace, 
And  happiness  for  the  four  years  that  remain, 
While  I  close  up  my  work  as  President. 
Then  back  to  Illinois  to  rest  and  live. 
I  have  some  money  saved.     Wrote  recently 
To  friends  to  find  a  house  for  me  in  Chicago — 
We  can  live  there,  or  Springfield.     Law  again, 
At  least  enough  to  keep  us. 

MRS.  LINCOLN 

That's  my  dream, 
And  from  this  night  we  start  to  live,  rejoice. 

(They  drive  on.) 

Scene   V.     The  stage  of  Ford's   Theatre. 
(Laura   Keene  as   "Florence    T  r  en  chard" ;  John    Dyatt 
as    "Dundreary"     in     dialogue    in     Tom     Taylor's 
"American  Cousin'1) 

FLORENCE 
"Can't  you  see  the  point  of  that  joke?" 

DUNDREARY 
"No,  really." 

FLORENCE 
"You  can't  see  it?" 

DUNDREARY 
"No!" 

[145] 


BRUTUS  LIVES  AGAIN  IN  BOOTH 
(Lincoln,  Mrs.  Lincoln  and  party  enter  the  box.) 

FLORENCE 

(Making  a  profound  courtesy  to  Lincoln.) 
"Everyone  can  see  that!" 

(The  audience  breaks  into  great  applause.  The 
band  plays  "Hail  to  the  Chief."  Lincoln  hours  to 
the  audience.) 


Scene  VI.     Back  of  the  stage. 

FIRST  STAGE  HAND 
Whose  horse  is  at  the  door? 

SECOND  STAGE  HAND 

Booth's! 

A  VOICE 

Ten    twenty-five. 

FIRST  STAGE  HAND 
Ten  twenty-five. 

SECOND  STAGE  HAND 

Ten  twenty-five. 


BRUTUS  LIVES  AGAIN  IN  BOOTH 
Scene  Vll.     The  Presidential  Box. 

LINCOLN 

Oh,  no!    No  persecution,  bloody  work, 
How  to  articulate  the  states  again, 
Just  ho\v  to  handle  the  states  that  left  us — well, 
There  will  be  problems  up  from  day  to  day, 
During  my  term,  at  least.     But  no  revenge, 
No  hate,  no  hanging,  killing — rather  shoo ! 
Like  Hannah  Armstrong  used  to  shoo  her  chickens. 
Let  the  obstreperous,  unreconciled 
Go  clear  to — Halifax — get  out!    But,  Major, 
My  feeling  is  to  treat  the  Southern  people 
As  fellow  citizens.     To  be  their  fellows 
And  not  their  masters  is  my  way. 

MAJ.  RATHBONE 

We  need 

Your  genius,  Mr.  President,  for  the  work 
Of  reconstruction  more,  if  that  may  be, 
Then  we  had  need  of  you  to  push  the  war. 

MRS.  LINCOLN 
How  do  you  like  the  play  ? 

LINCOLN 

Oh,  very  good. 

[«47] 


BRUTUS  LIVES  AGAIN  IN  BOOTH 
Scene   VIII.     Dress  Circle. 

FIRST  AUDITOR 

(Gazing  at  the  Presidential  box.) 
What's  keeping  General  Grant?     I  came  to  see 
The  conqueror  of  Lee. 

SECOND  AUDITOR 

He  will  not  come. 
Too  late  now. 

FIRST  AUDITOR 
(Looking  at  his  watch.) 

Yes,  ten  twenty-five. 

SECOND  AUDITOR 

Who's  that? 

FIRST  AUDITOR 
Who? 

SECOND  AUDITOR 

Why,  a  man  as  pale  as  snow 
Or  ivory,  with  hair  black  as  a  horse's  tail 
Passed    back    of    the    seats    there,    and    approached    the 

entrance 
To  Lincoln's  box. 

FIRST  AUDITOR 

A  secret  officer, 

With  message  of  a  battle.     Oh,  perhaps 
Sherman  has  vanquished  Johnston! 


BRUTUS  LIVES  AGAIN  IN  BOOTH 

Scene  IX.     In  the  passageway  leading  to  the  Presidential 

box. 

BOOTH 

Right  or  wrong,  God  judge  me — never  man. 
Liberty  is  dead — I  would  not  live, 
Beyond  my  country's  life.     Oh,  Liberty! 
Brutus,  sustain  me! 


Scene  X.     The  Presidential  box. 

MAJOR  RATHBONE 
(Obsennng  Lincoln  rise.) 
Can  I  get  something  for  you  ? 

LINCOLN 

I  want  my  coat. 

I  felt  a  chill  and  shudder  down  my  back. 
(He  gets  his  coat  and  is  seated.) 

Scene  XI      Booth  at  the  door  of  the  Presidential  box 
aiming  a  pistol. 

BOOTH 

Brutus!  (He  fires.  The  President's  head  falls  upon 
his  breast.  Booth  rushes  into  the  box,  slashes  Major 
Rathbone  U'ith  a  dagger,  leaps  from  the  box  to  the  stage. 
Falls,  arises.) 

[149] 


BRUTUS  LIVES  AGAIN  IN  BOOTH 
Scene  XII.     On  the  stage. 

BOOTH 
Sic  semper  Tyrannis!     The  South  is  avenged  ! 

(He    rushes  off.     Great  confusion.) 


[150] 


BOOTH'S  PHILIPPI 

(Garrett's    Tobacco    House,    Bowling    Green,    Virginia, 
April  26th,  1865.     Booth  and  Harrold.) 

SCENE  I 

BOOTH 

If  this  must  be,  I  take  it.     Be  a  man. 
Don't  whine  like  that.     You  suffer  only  from  fear. 
But  if  you  had  this  torturing  leg.     My  God! 
If  you  rode  sixty  miles  as  I  did,  flesh 
Prodded  at  every  jump  by  broken  bones    .  .  . 

HARROLD 
What's  that? 

BOOTH 

A  dog  there  in  the  yard. 

HARROLD 

Those  troopers 

We  hid  from  on  the  way  here — Federals — 
Did  they  go  on,  or  follow,  hunting  us? 

BOOTH 

We're  ended  likely.     Let  us  stand  our  ground. 
We  have  our  carbines  for  the  ending  up  ... 


BOOTH'S  PHILIPPI 

But  oh,  to  be  thus  hunted,  like  a  dog, 

Through  swamps,  woods,  thickets,  chased  by  gunboats  too, 

With  every  hand  against  me.     And  for  what? 

For  doing  what  brought  honor  unto  Brutus, 

And  deathless  fame  to  Tell.     Who'll  clear  my  name? 

Who'll  print  what  I  have  written?    There's  the  pang 

To  die  and  have  my  spirit  and  sacrifice 

Sealed  up  in  silence,  or  drowned  out  in  cries 

Of  "cut-throat"  or  "assassin." 

I  struck  down 

A  greater  tyrant  than  great  Brutus  slew. 
And  my  act  was  more  pure  than  his  or  Tell's. 
One  would  be  great,  and  one  had  private  wrongs 
To  heap  his  country's  up  for  quick  revenge. 
But  I,  what  greatness  could  I  hope  for  this? 
What  wrongs  had  I  except  the  common  wrong? 
I  struck  for  country  and  for  that  alone  ; 
I  struck  for  liberty  that  groaned  beneath 
A  tyrant's  monstrous  tyranny — and  now  look 
The  cold  hand  they  extend  me  in  the  South 
For  which  I  struck!     Our  country  bleeding,  broken, 
Cried  to  me  for  relief,  and  I  was  made 
The  instrument  of  God  by  God  alone. 

HARROLD 
A  rooster  crows! 

BOOTH 

Two  hours  till  morning  yet. 
It's  only  two  o'clock. 


BOOTH'S  PHILIPPI 

HARROLD 

What  shall  we  do? 

BOOTH 

To-night  we'll  try  the  river  once  again  .  .  . 
Why  not  return  to  Washington  and  end  it? 
They'd  try  me  and  I'd  clear  my  name.     Repent? 
No,  I  do  not  repent.     But  I've  a  soul 
Too  great  to  die  a  felon's  death.    Swift  guns 
Against  a  firing  wall  are  honorable. 
Before  them  I  can  clear  my  name.     O  God! 
Give  me  a  brave  man's  death,  for  I  have  wronged, 
Nor  hated  no  one.    And  was  this  a  wrong 
To  kill  a  tyrant?    God  must  deem  it  so, 
By  making  it  a  curse  upon  our  time, 
Our  country  and  our  countrymen.     My  fate 
How  miserable  soever  it  may  be 
Proves  not  I  did  a  wrong. 

Great  Milton  come 
And  comfort  me  in  this  my  agony ! 
You  who  could  write  a  tyrant  forfeits  life 
To  those  whom  he  oppresses,  and  'tis  just 
To  take  him  off.    O  curse  of  Cain  no  less! 
Now  I  must  pray  again. 

(He  prays.) 

[153] 


BOOTH'S  PHILIPPI 
SCENE  II.     (At  the  Garrett  House.) 

(Lieutenant  Baker,  and  a  squad,  including  Boston 
Corbett.) 

BAKER 
(Knocking  at  the  door.)     Halloo !  halloo  ! 

A  VOICE 

What's  wanted? 

BAKER 

Open  the  door! 

SCENE  III.     (Inside  the  Tobacco  House.) 

HARROLD 
They've  come. 

BOOTH 

Yes!  rapping  at  the  door.    Perhaps 
Old  Garrett  will  not  tell  that  we  are  here. 
Hold  to  your  carbine.     Do  as  I  command. 

SCENE  III.     (At  the  Garrett  House.) 

BAKER 

(Taking  Garrett  by  the  throat.) 

Where  are  these  fellows?    In  your  house? 


BOOTH'S  PHILIPPI 

GARRETT 

No!  No! 

BAKER 

We'll  search!     Men,  search  the  house! 

GARRETT 

They  are  not  here! 

BAKER 

You  make  yourself  accomplice  if  you  hide  them. 
Last  time:  where  are  they? 

GARRETT 
In  the  Tobacco  House. 

SCENE  IV.     (Inside  the  Tobacco  House.) 

HARROLD 
They're  walking  toward  us. 

BOOTH 

Do  as  I  command. 

BAKER 
(Outside.)     Come  out  of  there. 

BOSTON  CORBETT 

(Outside.)  Lieutenant,  they  can  pick 

The  whole  of  us  through  cracks  with  their  carbines. 
Old  Garrett  says  they're  armed. 

(He  goes  back  of  the  tobacco  house.) 

[I5S] 


BOOTH'S  PHILIPPI 

BAKER 

Come  out  of  there. 

Five  minutes  to  come  out,  then  I  set  fire 
To  the  tobacco  house. 

BOOTH 
(Inside.) 

Who  are  you?    What  do  you  want? 

BAKER 
(Outside.) 

We  want  you.     And  we  know  you.     Come,  you  are 
Booth,  assassin  of  the  President.    Surrender  arms. 
Come  out! 

BOOTH 
(Inside.) 

I  want  a  little  time  to  think  about  it. 

(A  silence.) 

BAKER 
(Outside.) 

Well,  now  come  out. 

BOOTH 
(Inside.) 

You  are  a  brave  man,  captain,  I  believe, 
Honorable  too.     I  am  a  cripple,  have 
One  leg,  the  other  broken.    Yet  no  less 
If  you  will  take  your  men  a  hundred  yards 
From  the  door  of  the  tobacco  house,  I'll  come 
Out  as  you  command  and  fight  you  all. 

[156] 


BOOTH'S  PHILIPPI 

BAKER 
(Outside.) 

I  have  not  come  to  fight,  but  capture  you. 

BOOTH 
(Inside.) 

Give  me  a  chance  for  life.    I'll  better  terms. 
If  you  will  take  your  men  off  fifty  yards 
I'll  come  out,  fight  you  all,  till  I  am  killed, 
Or  kill  you  all. 

BAKER 
(Out  fide.) 

No! 

BOOTH 
(Inside.) 

You  are  a  coward,  sir, 

Denying  to  a  brave  man  chance  for  life. 

HARROLD 
(Inside.) 

They've  set  the  house  afire!    Now,  let  me  out! 
(The  house  burns.) 

BOOTH 
(Inside.) 

You  hellish  coward,  would  you  leave  me  now? 
Go!  Go!  and  leave  me.  It  would  be  dishonor 
To  die  with  such  a  coward. 

Let  this  man 
Come  out  of  here! 

[157] 


BOOTH'S  PHILIPPI 

BAKER 
(Outside.) 

All  right!     Hand  out  his  arms 
And  come. 

BOOTH 
(Inside  amid  flames.) 

A  coward  goes  to  cowards. 
(The  flames  are  coming  up  around  Booth.) 
(He  stands  on  a  crutch,  pale  and  defiant.) 


SCENE  V.     (Boston  Corbett  looking  through  a  crack  in 
the  Tobacco  House  at  Booth  amid  the  flames.) 

CORBETT 
I  hear  you  God  and  will  obey ! 

(He  points  a  carbine  through  a  crack  and  fires  at 
Booth.  Booth  leaps  and  falls.  The  soldiers  go  in 
and  bring  him  out  on  the  lau'n.) 


SCENE  VI.     (On  the  lawn.) 

BAKER 
(To  Corbett.) 

Why  did  you  shoot?    You  had  no  orders  to? 
I'll  take  you  back  to  Washington  in  chains! 
Why  did  you  shoot? 

[158] 


BOOTH'S  PHILIPPI 

CORBETT 

God  told  me  to. 

BAKER 

It  looks  it. 

You  hit  him  just  behind  the  ear.    Same  place 
Where  Lincoln  got  the  mortal  wound. 

BOOTH 

Tell  mother 

I  died  for  country,  liberty,  as  Brutus 
Did  what  he  did  for  Rome.     I  thought  it  best 
To  do  what  I  have  done.    God's  will  be  done 
As  I  have  tried  to  do  it. 

(He  dies.) 


[159] 


THE  BURIAL  OF  BOSTON  CORBETT 

(One  warden   to  another.) 
(Asylum  for  the  insane,  Kansas,  1885.) 

So  this  is  what  we  bury?    How  his  face 

Seems  like  a  smear  of  yellow  wax.    This  beard 

Grown  fine  and  curly.     Something  nasty  here, 

Hermaphroditic,  feminine.    Like  a  dog 

That  has  run  loose  with  rabies,  yelps  and  snaps, 

And  makes  a  terror  for  a  day,  is  slain, 

And  lies  where  passers-by  can  foot  the  corpse, 

So  he  lies  here:  this  steadfast  paranoic! 

How  vanished  from  these  sealed  lids  dreams  of  God! 

Where  are  they  now?    For  all  this  outer  world 

Of  lunatics,  care-takers,  wardens,  world 

Of  fields  and  villages,  the  state  and  states 

Smiles  at  these  lids  so  neatly  sealed,  the  God 

That  had  his  altar  in  the  spectral  light 

Of  his  mad  eyes ! 

This  is  the  man  who  slew 
The  slayer  of  the  noble  Lincoln.    First 
For  the  common  good  was  Caesar  slain  by  Brutus, 
And  Booth  slew  Lincoln  in  a  dream  of  Brutus, 
This  Corbett  slew  the  slayer  in  a  faith 
Of  God.     Catch  up  the  corner  of  the  sheet. 

[160] 


THE  BURIAL  OF  BOSTON  CORBETT 

He  gets  a  grave  where  many  hundreds  lie, 
Each  with  his  epitaph  of  "Rest  in  Peace"; 
Who  had  no  pi-ace  in  living,  for  the  dreams 
Of  God,  or  Duty,  Terror,  Visions  Vain. 

Some  say  he  came  to  Kansas,  hither  drawn 

By  hope  of  sympathy,  since  all  are  mad 

In  Kansas;  otherwise  the  true  God  know, 

And  keep  His  ritual  of  reform.     He  found 

God  mocked  in  Kansas,  or  he  had  not  tried 

To  shoot  the  state  assembly  to  a  man, 

When  he  was  keeper  of  the  door.     Perhaps 

'Twas  right  enough  to  slay  the  actor  Booth, 

Obeying  God ;  we  might  accept  his  word 

God  told  him  to  kill  Booth.    But  was  it  God 

Commanded  him  to  slay  so  many  honorable 

Members  of  the  Kansas  legislature 

For  legislating,  or  not  legislating 

As  God  would  have  them?    Well,  I  have  a  doubt. 

And  many  doubted  his  divine  appointment 

For  massacre  like  that.    And  so  we  flung 

The  lasso  round  him,  gathered  him,  and  quick 

We  shut  him  in  the  pound,  dishonored  God, 

As  he  conceived  it,  doing  so. 

I've  heard 

Brutus  at  last  said,  Miserable  Virtue,  Bawd, 
Thou  wert  a  world  alone,  a  cheat  at  last! 
This  Boston  Corbett  never  did  recant 
The  faith,  or  God,  the  word. 

[161] 


THE  BURIAL  OF  BOSTON  CORBETT 

So  ends  it  here. 

Mad  unto  death !    This  Corbett  is  the  corneous 
And  upcurved  withered  calyx  of  a  flower 
Rich  out  of  time.     His  madness  is  the  lisping 
Of  that  same  stricken  calyx  in  the  wind 
Of  Infinite  Mysteries. 

Are  you  ready  now? 

Knot  fast  your  corners  of  the  sheet  to  hold. 
All  ready,  to  the  field.    There  in  corruption 
We'll  sow  him,  to  be  raised — but  why  at  all 
Should  he  be  raised  ? 


THE  NEW  APOCRYPHA 

BUSINESS  REVERSES 
(Mark,  Chapter  VI.) 

Everything!  Counter  and  scales — 
I'll  take  whatever  you  give. 

I'm  through,  and  off  to  Athens, 
Where  a  man  like  me  can  live. 

And  Hipparch,  the  baker,  is  going; 

My  chum,  who  came  with  me 
To  follow  the  crowds  who  follow 

The  prophet  of  Galilee. 

We  two  were  there  at  Damascus 

Dealing  in  figs  and  wine. 
Nice  little  business!     Some  one 

Said:  "Here,  I'll  give  you  a  line! 

"Buy  fish,  and  set  up  a  booth, 
Get  a  tent  and  make  your  bread. 

There  are  thousands  who  come  to  listen, 
They  are  hungry  and  must  be  fed." 

[-63] 


BUSINESS  REVERSES 

And  so  we  went.     Believe  me, 

There  were  crowds,  and  hungry,  too. 

Five  thousand  stood  in  the  desert 
And  listened  the  whole  day  through. 

Famished?    Well,  yes.    The  disciples 
Were  saying  to  send  them  away 

To  buy  their  bread  in  the  village, 
But  the  prophet  went  on  to  say: 

"Feed  them  yourselves,  O  you 
Of  little  faith."  But  they  said: 

"We  have  just  five  little  fishes 
And  two  little  loaves  of  bread." 

We  heard  it,  me  and  Hipparch, 
And  rubbed  our  hands.    You  see 

We  were  there  to  make  some  money 
In  the  land  of  Galilee. 

We  had  stock  in  plenty.    We  waited. 

I  wiped  the  scales,  and  my  chum 
Re-stacked  the  loaves.    We  bellowed, 

But  no  one  seemed  to  come. 

"Fresh  fish  !"  I  bawled  my  lungs  out : 
"Nice  bread!"  poor  Hipparch  cried, 

But  what  did  they  do?    Sat  down  there 
In  fifties,  side  by  side, 


BUSINESS  REVERSES 

In  ranks,  the  whole  five  thousand. 

Then — well,  the  prophet  spoke, 
And  broke  the  five  little  fishes, 

And  the  two  little  loaves  he  broke. 

And  fed  the  whole  five  thousand. 

Why,  yes!    So  gorged  they  slept. 
And  we  stood  beaten  and  bankrupt. 

Poor  Hipparch  swore  and  wept. 

They  gathered  up  twelve  baskets 
Full  from  the  loaves  of  bread ; 

Five  little  fishes — twelve  baskets 
Of  fragments  after  they  fed. 

And  we — what  was  there  to  do 
But  dump  our  stock  on  the  sand? 

That's  what  we  got  for  our  labor 
And  thrift,  in  such  a  land. 

We  met  a  man  near  Damascus 
Who  had  joined  the  mystagogues. 

He  said :  "I  was  wicked  as  you  men 
Until  I  lost  my  hogs." 

Now  Hipparch  and  I  are  going 
To  Athens,  beautiful,  free. 

No  more  adventures  for  us  two 
In  the  land  of  Galilee. 
[165] 


THE  FIG  TREE 
(Matthew,  Chapter  XXI.) 

With  all  of  the  rest  of  my  troubles  my  fig  tree's  withered 

and  gone. 

It  stood  in  the  road,  you  kno\v,  I  haven't  much  of  a  lawn. 
I  step  from  my  door  to  a  step,  and  from  that  right  into 

the  street. 
Just  the  same  I  sat  under  my  tree,  as  a  shade  from  the 

noonday  heat. 

Camels  came  by  and  asses,  caravans,  footmen,  too ; 
Soldiers  of  Caesar  saw  me  and  ate  of  my  tree,  nor  drew 
Ax  nor  sword  to  the  branches,  nor  even  a  hack  on  the 

bole. 
Now  what  had  I  done  or  my  tree?    I  call  it  an  evil  dole 

To  a  tree  that  must  rest  as  a  man  rests.    Why  last  year 

what  a  crop ! 

Figs  all  over  the  branches,  from  lower  limb  to  top. 
The  tree  was  resting  this  year,   contenting  itself  with 

leaves, 

If  magic  comes  of  believing,  beware  the  man  who  believes. 
[166] 


THE  FIG  TREE 

If  faith  can  remove  a  mountain,  then  faith,  I  say,  beware. 
Some  morn  I'll  look  toward  Olivet  and  find  it  no  longer 

there. 
These  fellows  can  blast  our  vineyards,  level  our  hills  or 

remove. 
And  what  does  it  prove  but  faith,  what  other  good  does 

it  prove? 

Nothing  at  all!    Just  magic,  like  Egypt's  cunning  breed. 
And  to  do  such  things  with  faith  the  size  of  a  mustard 

seed! 
What  is  there  need  of  more?    If  you  gave  them  faith  as  a 

pear 
They  would  set  Orion  dancing  around  the  paws  of  the 

Bear; 

Make  the  heavens  fall  on  our  heads,  the  whole  world 

ruin  and  wreck; 
Slay  us  and  our  children,  slave  us,  put  the  yoke  on  our 

neck; 
Smash  cities  to  strengthen  the  village,  have  life  just  as 

they  would. 
And  make  that  evil  which  is  not,  make  evil  into  a  good. 

Anyway  he  came,  he  was  hungry,  and  it  was  break  of 

dawn. 
He  ran   to  my  tree  expectant,  saw   nothing  but  leaves 

thereon. 

[167] 


THE  FIG  TREE 

Then  raged  for  the  lack  of  figs,  no  grace  for  the  years 

that  it  bore. 
And  he  said  may  no  fruit  grow  hereon  forevermore. 

With  that  my  tree  curled  up  like  a  leaf  in  a  windy  blaze. 
I  was  standing  here  on  my  step  half  blind  in  a  sudden 

maze. 
Then  he  said :  have  faith  and  do  what  I  have  done  to  this 

tree, 
Or  say  to  the  mountains  move  and  be  cast  into  the  sea. 

So  now  I  have  no  shade  at  noon  under  leafy  boughs, 
Why  the  tree  was  good  for  resting,  cooler  than  in  the 

house, 

If  it  never  bore  again,  if  the  life  is  more  than  meat 
Why  not  this  tree  for  my  dreams,  though  he  found  no 

figs  to  eat. 

But  I  swear  it  had  borne  next  year,  it  was  only  taking  a 

rest. 
There's  too  many  saints  who  are  straining  the  world  to  a 

dream  in  the  breast. 
Next  year  no  figs  for  Gesar,  and  none  for  myself,  what's 

worse, 
If  this  be  the  work  of  faith,  then  faith  itself  is  a  curse. 


[168] 


TRIBUTE  MONEY 
(Matthew,  Chapter  XXII .-24-27.) 

This  is  all  of  the  story 
Capernaum  stood  in  the  way, 
The  takers  of  tribute  came : 
"Does  your  master  tribute  pay?" 

And  Peter  ran  to  Jesus, 
And  Jesus  answered  him:  "Nay! 
Do  the  kings  of  the  earth  have  tribute 
From  their  own  children,  pray? 

"Or  do  they  get  it  of  strangers?" 
And  Peter  answered  him:  "Yea." 
Then  Jesus  said  :  "This  is  Galilee, 
Should  Galileans  pay? 

"But  yet  lest  we  offend  them 
There's  a  fish  out  there  in  the  bay 
With  a  silver  coin  in  his  mouth — 
Go  catch  the  fish  and  pay." 

Did  Jesus  mean  to  mock 
The  tariff  laws  of  the  day : 
That  Peter  could  catch  the  fish 
As  likely  as  he  would  pay? 

[169] 


TRIBUTE  MONEY 

Did  he  mean  to  resist  or  yield 
If  Peter  was  lucky  that  day? 
I,  Matthew,  tell  you  no  more, 
And  Mark  and  Luke  don't  say. 

Did  we  enter  the  gate,  or  sit 
Where  the  rocks  and  olives  are  gray? 
Right  then  there  was  better  matter 
For  a  follower  to  portray. 

The  multitude  gathered.     He  called 
A  child  to  him  from  its  play, 
And  set  the  child  in  our  midst; 
And  then  he  began  to  say: — 

"This  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven." 
And  he  took  its  hand  and  smiled. 
"The  kingdom  of  heaven,"  he  said, 
"Is  like  the  heart  of  a  child." 

And  I  say,  if  this  be  true, 
The  Kingdom  is  surely  defiled 
By  laws,  and  tariffs  and  kings 
Unknown  to  the  heart  of  a  child. 


THE  GREAT  MERGER 
(Exodus,  Chapter  XX.) 

Philo,  the  worst  has  come, 
All  we  foresaw  and  feared : 
Delphos  will  soon  be  dumb, 
Eleusis  felled  and  cleared. 

Not  only  Marduk  and  Bel 
Shamash,  Nana,  and  Sin 
Are  doomed  to  be  swallowed.    Rebel? 
It  is  too  late  to  begin. 

They  have  worked  for  this  merger  for  years; 
They  have  bullied,  lied  and  coerced. 
They  have  played  with  curses  and  tears. 
And  now  at  last  is  the  worst: 

For  Zeus  goes  into  the  bowl 
Of  Cyclops,  thoroughly  blended. 
The  brew  is  Jehovah,  a  Soul 
Envious,  sour,  commended 

And  forced  to  our  lips.     His  son 
And  another,  the  Holy  Ghost, 


THE  GREAT  MERGER 

Are  mixed  with  him,  there  is  none 
Not  stirred  in  the  mixture  and  lost 

Of  the  gods  we  loved.    They  say 
There  is  only  one  god,  not  many. 
Well,  who  knows,  we  of  clay, 
If  there  be  a  thousand,  or  any? 

They  say  there  is  one — all  right ! 
They  take  over  all  the  rest. 
And  so  there  is  one,  we  can  fight, 
Argue,  pray  and  protest; 

Set  up  a  booth  to  Apollo, 
Athene;  bawl  and  persuade. 
The  crowds  no  longer  follow — 
Jehovah  has  got  the  trade. 

For  the  Jews  have  used  the  scheme 
Of  commerce  for  making  a  god: 
A  harbor  where  no  trireme 
But  their  own  can  dock  or  load. 

Now  who  will  come  to  dissolve 
This  theo-monopoly? 
And  the  power  they  took  devolve 
On  a  mightier  deity? 

It  will  come.    But  as  for  Zeus, 
Osiris,  Ptah,  Zoroaster, 


THE  GREAT  MERGER 

They  are  ste\ved  in  the  dominant  juice 
Of  Jehovah,  lord  and  master. 

We  accept  the  fate.    We  laugh. 
The  earth,  the  sea  and  the  sky 
Are  at  last  the  cenotaph 
Of  gods,  who  always  die. 


[173] 


AT  DECAPOLIS 

(Mark,  Chapter  F.) 

I 
THE   ACCUSATION 

I  am  a  farmer  and  live 
Two  miles  from  Decapolis. 
Where  is  the  magistrate?    Tell  me 
Where  the  magistrate  is! 

Here  I  had  made  provision 
For  children  and  wife, 
And  now  I  have  lost  my  all; 
I  am  ruined  for  life. 

I,  a  believer,  too, 
In  the  synagogues. — 
What  is  the  faith  to  me? 
I  have  lost  my  hogs. 

Two  thousand  hogs  as  fine 

As  ever  you  saw, 

Drowned  and  choked  in  the  sea — 

I  want  the  law! 

[174] 


AT  DECAPOLIS 

They  were  feeding  upon  a  hill 
When  a  strolling  teacher 
Came  by  and  scared  my  hogs — 
They  say  he's  a  preacher, 

And  cures  the  possessed  who  haunt 
The  tombs  and  bogs. 
All  right;  but  why  send  devils 
Into  my  hogs? 

They  squealed  and  grunted  and  ran 
And  plunged  in  the  sea. 
And  the  lunatic  laughed  who  was  healed, 
Of  the  devils  free. 

Devils  or  fright,  no  matter 

A  fig  or  a  straw. 

Where  is  the  magistrate,  tell  me — 

I  want  the  law! 


2 
JESUS    BEFORE    MAGISTRATE   AHAZ 

Ahaz,  there  in  the  seat  of  judgment,  hear, 
If  you  have  wit  to  understand  my  plea. 
Swine-devils  are  too  much  for  swine,  that's  clear. 
Poor  man  possessed  of  such  is  partly  free. 

Is  neither  drowned,  destroyed  at  once,  his  chains 
May  pluck  while  running,  howling  through  the  mire 

[175] 


AT  DECAPOLIS 

And  take  a  little  gladness  for  his  pains, 
Some  fury  for  unsatisfied  desire. 

But  hogs  go  mad  at  once.    All  this  I  knew, — 
But  then  this  lunatic  had  rights.    You  grant 
Swine-devils  had  him  in  their  clutch  and  drew 
His  baffled  spirit.    How  significant, 

As  they  were  legion  and  so  named !    The  point 
Is,  life  bewildered,  torn  in  greed  and  wrath; — 
Desire  puts  a  spirit  out  of  joint. 
Swine-devils  are  for  swine  who  have  no  path. 

But  man  with  many  lusts,  what  is  his  way, 
Save  in  confusion,  through  accustomed  rooms? 
He  prays  for  night  to  come,  and  for  the  day 
Amid  the  miry  places  and  the  tombs. 

But  hogs  run  to  the  sea.    And  there's  an  end. 
Would  I  might  cast  the  swinish  demons  out 
From  man  forever.    Yet  the  word  attend. 
The  lesson  of  the  thing  what  soul  can  doubt? 

What  is  the  loss  of  hogs,  if  man  be  saved? 
What  loss  of  lands  and  houses,  man  being  free? 
Clothed  in  his  reason  sits  the  man  who  raved, 
Clean  and  at  peace,  your  honor.    Come  and  see. 

Your  honor  shakes  a  frowning  head.    Not  loth, 
Speaking  more  plainly,  deeper  truth  to  draw; 

[176] 


AT  DECAPOLIS 

Do  your  judicial  duty,  yet  I  clothe 

Free  souls  with  courage  to  transgress  the  law. 

By  casting  demons  out  from  self,  or  those 
Like  this  poor  lunatic  whom  your  synagogues 
Would  leave  to  battle  singly  with  his  woes — 
What  is  a  man's  soul  to  a  drove  of  hogs? 

Which  being  lost,  men  play  the  hypocrite 
And  make  the  owner  chief  in  the  affair. 
You  banish  me  for  witchcraft.     I  submit. 
Work  of  this  kind  awaits  me  everywhere. 

And  into  swine  where  better  they  belong, 

Casting  the  swinish  devils  out  of  men, 

The  devils  have  their  place  at  last,  and  then 

The  man  is  healed  who  had  them — where's  the  wrong, 

Save  to  the  owner?    Well,  your  synagogues 
Make  the  split  hoof  and  chewing  of  the  cud 
The  test  of  lawful  flesh.     Not  so  are  hogs. 
This  rule  has  been  the  statute  since  the  flood. 

Ahaz,  your  judgment  has  a  fatal  flaw. 
Is  it  not  so  with  judges  first  and  last — 
You  break  the  law  to  specialize  the  law? — 
This  is  the  devil  that  from  you  I  cast. 


THE  SINGLE  STANDARD 
(St.  John,  Chapter  Fill.) 

It  was  known  through  Judea,  we  knew  it 

That  Joseph  beguiled 

By  mercy  for  Mary  espoused, 

And  already  with  child, 

Before  they  had  come  to  each  other, 
Would  put  her  away 
In  secret,  before  the  Sanhedrin 
Could  summon,  array, 

The  witnesses,  judge  her  and  make  her 
A  noise  and  a  shame — 
We  knew  this,  and  what  would  he  do 
If  the  case  were  the  same 

As  his  father  believed  was  the  case 
With  his  mother?  would  he, 
A  prophet,  fulfill  all  the  law, 
Or  let  her  go  free? — 

This  Sarah,  you  know,  that  I  caught, 
Was  a  witness  and  saw. 
Now  what  would  he  do,  shade  away, 
Or  judge  by  the  law? 


THE  SINGLE  STANDARD 

For  Moses  decreed  if  a  woman 
Who  is  married  shall  lie 
With  a  man,  whether  wedded  or  not, 
The  woman  shall  die 

With  the  man  in  a  volley  of  stones; 
And  Moses  decreed 
If  a  virgin  already  betrothed 
Shall  lust  in  the  deed 

With  a  man  not  the  bridegroom,  and  whether 
The  man  shall  be  wed, 
The  people  shall  stone  them  with  stones 
Until  they  be  dead. 

Now  mark  you,  how  equal  the  law 
Of  weight  and  of  span : 
One  law  for  the  woman  in  sin, 
The  same  for  the  man. 

If  Moses  be  still  the  law-giver, 
By  nothing  dethroned, 
And  this  be  the  law,  then  this  Sarah 
Was  fit  to  be  stoned. 

And  if  it  be  true,  as  he  says, 
That  he  came  to  fulfill 
The  law,  nor  destroy  it,  why  then 
We  thought  he  would  will 
[179] 


THE  SINGLE  STANDARD 

The  death  of  this  woman  we  took 
In  adultery,  yes  in  the  act, 
So  we  argued  together  beforehand 
The  law  and  the  fact. 

Now  the  case  was  this  way:  this  Josiah 
Late  journeyed  from  Tyre, 
Three  wives  to  his  household  already, 
Yet  alive  with  desire, 

And  free  by  our  custom  and  law 
To  add  to  his  hearth 
A  fourth  for  the  heirs  to  his  house, 
And  for  comfort  and  mirth, 

Came  back  in  the  cause  of  a  field 
He  had  bought;  as  it  chanced 
Met  up  with  this  Sarah,  a  wife, 
They  feasted  and  danced, 

Her  spouse  being  absent,  what's  more 
In  Egypt  for  good. 
So  Josiah  and  Sarah  were  found 
In  the  act  in  the  wood. 

We  brought  her  before  him,  accused, 
And  told  him  the  case. 
He  stooped,  as  it  seemed,  to  conceal 
A  blush  on  his  face, 

[180] 


THE  SINGLE  STANDARD 

And  wrote  in  the  sand,  as  \ve  stood 
And  pressed  him  he  wrote: 
"Anise"  and  "cummin"  and  "gnat" 
And  "Moses"  and  "mote." 

We  cried  all  the  more,  he  uplifted 
Himself,  said:  "Begin 

Your  throwing  of  stones,  let  the  first 
Be  him  without  sin." 

So  there  I  was  caught,  for  he  knew — 
Like  wheat  from  the  scythe 
We  shrank — I  was  guilty  of  sin, 
I  had  failed  in  my  tithe 

Of  anise.    But  why  have  clean  hands 
To  work  at  our  smudges? 
And  how  will  you  ev\°.r  stop  sin 
If  you  ask  of  the  judges 

To  be  without  sin  ere  they  punish 
A  matter  of  lust? 
I  call  this  a  ruling  where  morals 
Fall  down  in  the  dust. 

The  most  of  us  left  then.    He  asked  her ; 
"Does  no  man  condemn? 
Nor  do  I."    And  so  he  made  one 
With  me  and  with  them. 
[181] 


THE  SINGLE  STANDARD 

So  here  in  a  sense  was  the  world 
Spiritual,  civil, 
Prophet  and  Pharisee,  judge 
Leagued  up  with  the  devil. 

For  what  did  it  matter  to  say 
To  go  and  no  more 
Sin  as  she  had,  if  the  sin 
Would  fare  as  before? 

It  followed  that  Sarah  went  free, 
And  Josiah  the  man. 
One  standard  for  both  is  the  rule, 
And  the  modern  plan. 

What's  that?    Why  to  sin  if  you  wish — 
For  what  is  a  sin 
If  no  stones  are  hurled  for  the  lack 
Of  a  man  to  begin  ? 

And  so  it  all  ended.    This  Sarah 
Was  given  a  bill. 
She  married  Josiah,  they  say, 
And  lives  with  him  still. 


FIRST  ENTRANTS 
(St.  Matthew,  Chapter  XXII:  31.) 

We  know  the  game  of  lawyer  and  priest ; 
We  know  the  cunning  of  Pharisee,  Scribe; 
We  know  the  malice  of  soldier,  jailer; — 
Hearts  of  those  who  abstain,  imbibe. 

And  when  we  saw  a  God-mad  fool 
Like  John  the  Baptist  who  cursed  and  grieved 
For  the  hate  of  the  elders,  the  harlot's  sorrow 
We  listened  to  him  and  we  believed. 

We  know  we  are  wronged,  he  voiced  it  for  us; 
We  know  we  are  mocked,  he  gave  us  place 
With  the  children  of  grief,  the  simple  hearted, 
The  broken  spirits  deserving  grace. 

He  knew  men  use  us  and  throw  us  away. 
He  knew  we  give  and  the  gift  is  loathed. 
We  are  the  givers  to  men  who  scourge  us, 
Drive  us  to  darkness,  cold,  unclothed. 

And  when  he  said:  "Behold  he  is  there 
Whose  latchet  I  am  unworthy  to  loose," 
Jesus  took  us,  the  humble  hearted, 
The  broken  vessels  that  none  will  use. 


FIRST  ENTRANTS 

And  we  believed  again,  and  saw 
A  youth  who  loved  us  without  desire ; 
Feasting,  drinking  with  us  the  harlots, 
Outcasts,  sinners,  wrecks  of  the  fire. 

These  were  our  brothers:  John  the  Baptist, 
Jesus  of  Nazareth.     Brothers  I  say. 
Brothers  and  sisters  bound  in  the  service 
Of  giving  comfort  and  pity  away. 

Pity  and  solace  and  hope  of  heaven, 
Healing  and  tenderness  came  of  Christ. 
And  we,  the  harlots,  have  given  pity 
And  given  delight  to  men  who  enticed 

This  little  gift,  so  easy  to  give  ; 
This  wonder  gift  to  them,  as  they  said. 
That  is  the  passion  that  moves  a  woman 
Before  it  becomes  a  matter  of  bread. 

Before  the  lashes  of  scorn  and  the  chains, 
The  dungeons,  before  the  scowls  and  sneers; 
Before  the  wrath  of  the  priest,  the  temple's 
Bolted  door  for  our  hunger,  tears. 

Before  the  delight  we  sell  is  stale 
As  the  steps  of  a  dancer,  growing  old. 
All  is  delight,  kisses  and  dancing — 
Men  can  buy,  for  they  have  the  gold. 
[184] 


FIRST  ENTRANTS 

And  we,  he  says,  shall  enter  heaven 
Before  the  priests  and  the  elders  do. 
Why  do  we  enter?    Because  as  sorrow, 
Poverty,  humbleness,  we  are  true. 

Without  pretense  or  pride.    We  are  children 
Who  have  shirked  the  task,  but  repent  the  sin. 
But  they,  the  elders  and  priests  have  promised 
To  work  for  heaven  and  never  begin. 

Why  do  we  enter,  save  spite  of  our  craft 
To  wheedle  with  lies  we  all  stand  forth 
Known  to  the  world  as  painted  harlots, 
Taken  by  no  one  over  our  worth? 

And  it's  good  to  enter,  if  we  can  be 
With  Jesus  and  John,  and  given  reprieve 
From  priests  and  elders  who  run  the  city 
And  hound  the  harlots  who  see  and  believe. 


[185] 


JOHN  IN  PRISON 
(St.  Luke,  Chapter  XVI.     St.  Matthew,  Chapter  XL) 

John  said  to  the  jailer:  "Where  are  my  disciples?  Be 
friend 

My  grief  and  my  doubt,  and  entreat  them  to  come,  to  the 
end 

That  they  ask  him  for  me  if  we  look  for  another,  or 

deem, 
As   I   did,   that  this  prophet  shall  save  and   fulfill   and 

redeem." 

And  the  jailer  replied:  "Since  the  wrath  of  King  Herod 

a  dish 
Your  head  shall  contain  by  to-morrow,  I  give  you  your 

wish." 

So  he  brought  the  disciples  to  John  and  the  two  of  them 

led 
To  the  cell  where  he  sat,  and  John  to  the  two  of  them 

said : — 

£186] 


JOHN  IN  PRISON 

"At  this  end  of  my  life  and  my  hopes,  at  the  door  of  my 

doom 
Go  ask  him  for  me  and  report:  is  it  he  that  should  come, 

Or  shall  we  yet  look  for  another?"     Amazed  were  the 

two 
And  one  of  them  spoke  to  the  Baptist  and  said:  "Is  it  true 

That  you  preached  in  the  wilderness  saying  repent  and 

prepare 
The  way  of  the  Lord,  whose  shoes  I  am  worthless  to  bear ; 

Who  will  fan  out  the  chaff,  gather  wheat,  purge  the  floor 
With  fire  and  the  Spirit  baptize  you,  bring  down  and 
restore 

The  kingdom  of  heaven  ?    And  are  we  abused  in  the  word 
That  as  he  came  out  of  the  waters  of  Jordan  you  heard 

A  voice  call  from  heaven  which  thundered:  'This  son  of 

my  love 
With  whom  I  am  pleased  you  shall  hear,'  and  a  dove 

For  the  Spirit  descended  upon  him — and  yet  can  you  ask 
If  he  be  the  one  that  should  come?    Yet  we  take  up  the 
task 

And   go  at  your  bidding."     And   John   said:   "I   suffer 

without 
You  seek  him  and  ask,  for  this  is  the  cause  of  my  doubt: — 

[-87] 


JOHN  IN  PRISON 

I  have  heard  of  his  works  and  rejoice.  But  why  does  he 
feast 

When  I  fasted  myself?  And  how  have  the  rumors  in 
creased 

That  he  fellows  with  publicans,  sinners  and  drinkers  of 

wine, 
A  bibber  himself,  when  the  springs  of  the  desert  were 

mine? 

And  how  is  the  ax,  as  I  said,  laid  close  to  the  root  of  the 

tree, 
And  my  curses  fulfilled  of  the  Pharisees,  if  this  must  be? 

And  if,  as  they  say,  he  is  preaching  the  word  that  we  make 
Of  the  unrighteous  mammon  a  friend  for  the  day  when 
we  break 

With  the  lords  of  the  riches  of  truth,  as  he  put  it,  for  then 
The    unrighteous    mammon    shall    take    us,    console    us 
again : — 

I  have  wasted  the  goods  of  my  lord!     I  am  caught  and 

accused ! 
Shall  I  make  good  the  theft  from  my  lord  in  a  trust  I 

abused  ? 

Why,  no !    I  go  out  to  the  debtors,  my  master  to  foil, 
How  much  do  you  owe  him?    Why,  so  many  measures  of 
oil! 

[188] 


JOHN  IN  PRISON 

Sit  down  then,  I  say,  make  the  bill  but  a  half,  quickly 

write: — 

I  am  wiser  in  this,  so  he  says,  than  the  children  of  light- 
As  I  make  for  myself  by  the  trick  of  a  thief,  and  a  theft, 
The  confederates'  home  for  my  own  for  my  honor  bereft. 

Go!  learn   if  he  said  this.     Return  ere  the  rise  of  the 

sun: — 
Shall  we  look  for  another  to  save  us,  or  is  he  the  one?" 


[189] 


ANANIAS  AND  SAPPHIRA 

Who  is  that  coming?     Look!     They  are  bearing  a  body 

again. 
It's  a  woman  now,  I  think.     And  the  very  same  young 

men 

Who  brought  Ananias'  body  we  buried  a  moment  ago. 
Pat  down  the  earth  a  little,  the  grass  will  sooner  grow. 

Yes,  now  I  see  it's  Sapphira.    What  did  she  do  to  win 
Death  at  the  hands  of  Peter,  or  was  it  her  husband's  sin? 

To  which  she  agreed,  or  kept  her  husband's  secret  in  faith. 
They  sold  a  sheep,  as  I  hear  it,  and  suffered  sudden  death 

For  hiding  part  of  the  price,  for  a  thing  commendable: 
Their  boy  is  sick,  and  they  needed  money  to  get  him  well. 

Just  look  how  things  are  going:  Caesar  the  despot  rules, 
The  state  is  his.     For  the  rest,  we  are  run  by  a  pack  of 
fools ; 

Zealots  and  mystics  who  say  that  the  end  of  the  world  is 

near. 

Tyranny  around  us,  on  top,  under  us  dullness  and  fear. 

[190] 


ANANIAS  AND  SAPPHIRA 

Songs  and  the  wine-cup  banished,  freedom  throttled  blue. 
It's  the  same  here  being  a  Greek,  Persian,  Median,  Jew. 

Roman  sovereignty  over  us,  merciless,  cold  and  bright. 
Fogs  over  the  land  of  dust,  day  no  different  than  night. 

Listless  we  labor  or  idle,  creep  into  an  early  bed. 
Sleep  is  the  best  thing  now,  and  the  best  is  the  sleep  of  the 
dead. 

Prepare  for  the  end  of  the  world!     Build  up  the  church, 

the  throne, 
Sell  all  your  goods  and  give,  have  nothing  to  call  your 

own  ; 

Put  everything  in  common.     That's  one  cry.     What  re 
mains? 
Taxes,  soldiers,  prisons,  edicts,  laws  and  chains. 

There  never  was  such  a  time!    What  man  is  lord  of  his 

soul? 
Someone  entered  my  barn  and  took  my  ass  with  foal 

For  the  prophet  to  ride  on  in  triumph.     I  was  there  and 

saw  him  ride, 
Crowds  crying  hallelujah  pressing  on  every  side. 

They  would  have  all  things  in  common.    They  kill  a  man 

and  his  wife, 

And  Caesar  rules  as  always,  and  yet  they  call  this  life! 
[191] 


ANANIAS  AND  SAPPHIRA 

Wars  forever  and  ever,  manned  by  hovels  and  huts; 
And  what  is  it  all  about?  lands,  and  gold  and  guts; 

And   baptists   stirring   the   dreamers,    and    bankers   that 

thrive  thereby. 
Why  kill  off  Ananias  when  the  whole  of  life  is  a  lie? 

All  right,  young  men,  put  her  down.    Go  to  it  now  with 

the  spade. 
We'll  bury  the  woman  Sapphira  here  where  her  husband's 

laid. 

They're  out  of  it.     Neither  Caesar  nor  Peter  can  wake 

their  sleep. 
I  lost  my  ass,  and  they  lost  their  lives  for  the  price  of  a 

sheep. 

And  Caesar  will  rule  forever!     And  Peter  if  he  grows 

strong 
Will  make  a  pact  with  Caesar,  and  Israel's  woe  and  wrong 

Will  spread  all  over  the  earth.    It  takes  no  prophet  to  see 
That  while  there  is  Gold  and  Fear  man  will  never  be 
free— 

Until  the  world  is  fed,  and  hunger  steals  like  a  wraith 
With  the  ghost  of  Caesar's  lust,  and  the  mist  of  Peter's 
faith. 


THE  TWO  MALEFACTORS 

Ask  Matthew,  or  ask  Mark,  and  get  the  truth. 

I  know  myself,  was  there  and  heard  them  both — 

Both  railed  at  him.     No!  one  did  not  rebuke 

The  other  for  his  railing;  did  not  ask 

To  be  remembered  when  into  his  Kingdom 

Jesus  should  come.    What  kingdom?    David's? — pah! 

That  had  gone  whirling  with  the  desert's  dust. 

What  kingdom?    That  within  you?    A  fool's  kingdom! 

"To-day  thou  shalt  be  with  me  in  Paradise," 

He  never  said  that.     I  was  there.     I  know. 

And  if  he  did,  where  is  that  paradise? 

Where  is  he  ?    And  where  is  the  man  they  say 

He  said  this  to?    Ask  Matthew,  learn  the  truth: 

Both  railed  at  him.    Both  died,  nerved  to  the  last 

By  bitter  disappointment. 

Listen,    friend, 

These  malefactors  were  my  brothers!    Well, 
I  saw  them  grow  up  lusty.    I  beheld 
Their  course  from  hope  to  action,  till  defeat 
And  prison  took  them. 

For  we  are  the  sons, 
We  Jews,  of  those  who  went  to  Babylon ; 

[193] 


THE  TWO  MALEFACTORS 

Returned  to  fall  by  Alexander's  sword; 
Were  snatched  by  Syria,  then  Egypt  came, 
Put  heels  upon  our  necks.    Rome  sailed  to  us, 
And  took  us  over.    And  these  bitter  years 
Made  poets,  prophets  of  us,  spurred  us  on 
To  inflate  the  dream  Jehovah  with  our  breath 
Of  threats  and  curses;  yet  these  bitter  years 
Kept  at  white  heat  the  hope  of  David's  throne, 
Restored,  triumphant,  and  our  prophecies 
Were  from  Jehovah  of  a  king  to  come 
Who  would  free  Israel,  drive  the  oppressor  off, 
And  let  us  live  as  men. 

Now  it  may  be 

A  certain  Jacob  was  his  grandfather, 
As  Matthew  says;  or  it  may  be  that  Heli 
Was  his  grandfather,  as  Luke  says,  but  still 
Both  say  he  was  of  David.    And  Luke  says 
The  angel  Gabriel  came  to  Mary,  his  mother, 
And  said  he  shall  be  great  and  shall  be  called 
The  Son  of  the  Most  High,  and  God  shall  give  him 
The  throne  of  his  father  David.     He  shall  reign 
Over  the  house  of  Jacob,  and  his  kingdom 
Shall  have  no  end.    We  looked  for  such  a  one 
To  free  us  and  with  portents  such  as  stars, 
And  Gabriel  descending,  Bethlehem 
Become  his  birth-place,  and  the  prophecies 
Of  old  fulfilled,  we  looked  for  Israel  freed, 
And  for  a  king  of  Jewish  blood  to  rule  us — 

t'94] 


THE  TWO  MALEFACTORS 

No  Gesar  any  more.    For  it  was  prophesied 

Of  Bethlehem:  For  out  of  thee  shall  come 

A  governor,  a  shepherd  of  my  people! 

And  look,  he's  born  in  Bethlehem !    And  why  not 

Our  hope  re-kindled? 

And  now  look  at  us; 

These  centuries  bruised,  imprisoned  and  made  poor, 
Jerusalem  a  city  of  wails  and  woes, 
The  whole  of  Israel  slaved  !    And  look  at  him! 
How  does  he  start  his  work,  whatever  it  be? 
By  reading  from  Isaiah  at  Nazareth : — 
"The  spirit  of  the  Lord  is  upon  me,  because 
He  anointed  me  to  preach  good  tidings  to 
The  poor,  hath  sent  me  to  proclaim  release 
To  captives  and  to  set  at  liberty 
Them  that  are  bruised." 

What  doctrine  may  this  be, 
But  change,  or  revolution,  and  the  ferment 
Of  new  wine  bursting  bottles  frail  and  old, 
This  tyranny  of  Caesar,  this  dependence 
On  alien  rulership?    You  know  yourself 
Barabbas  was  not  single  in  the  crime 
Of  insurrection,  ask  the  fellow  Mark. 
He'll  tell  you  this  Barabbas  lay  in  bonds 
With  many  who  rose  up,  committed  murder. 
Of  these  were  my  two  brothers,  crucified 
With  Jesus  on  that  da\. 

[195] 


THE  TWO  MALEFACTORS 

Well,  so  it  was 

He  preached,  was  followed  by  the  poor,  the  weak, 
The  slaved,  despoiled  until  'twas  noised  abroad 
Through  all  the  hill  country  and  in  the  cities 
That  he  stirred  up  the  people  everywhere, 
Devising  revolution,  overthrow 
Of  Caesar's  rule.    But  there  was  murmuring  too: 
For  some  said  he  was  good,  and  others  said 
He  deceived  the  people.    For  upon  a  day 
When  he  was  asked  directly  of  our  tribute, 
Whether  to  pay  to  Caesar,  not  to  pay, 
He  dodged  and  said:  "Give  Caesar  his  due  and  God 
His  due";  but  what  we  wished  to  know,  was  what 
Was  Caesar's  due,  and  give  it  him,  and  if 
No  tribute  was  his  due,  but  rather  casting 
The  yoke  of  Caesar,  then  give  Caesar  that. 
He  did  not  answer  what  the  Pharisees  asked, 
That  which  we  wished  to  hear  him  answer,  though 
The  Pharisees  had  asked  him.     For  we  poor, 
Enslaved  and  disinherited  had  followed 
His  leadership  thus  far. 

Behold  the  change: 

Passing  from  work  unfinished  he  becomes 
The  Son  of  God  and  God  himself,  becomes 
A  mystery,  the  Word  that  lived  and  wrought 
Before  John  who  announced  him.     Tidings  preached, 
I  grant  you,  to  the  poor,  but  who  remain 
Poor  as  before,  but  worn  for  broken  hope 


THE  TWO  MALEFACTORS 

Of  words  that  changed  no  thing.    And  no  release 

To  captives,  and  no  liberty  to  those 

Bruised  and  in  chains.    And  so  I  say  his  work 

Is  left  unfinished,  nothing  done  in  truth. 

And  quickly,  like  a  sun-rise  on  the  hills, 

He  flashes  forth  his  God-head,  and  we're  left 

To  Ca?sar's  will,  and  end  up  with  the  words: — 

His  kingdom  is  of  heaven,  not  of  earth ; 

Refines  the  point:  this  kingdom  is  within  us. 

And  he  will  die  and  rise  again  from  death, 

Ascend  to  heaven,  and  return  again 

Before  this  generation  passes  to  take  up 

His  own  to  heaven,  and  will  rule  forever 

In  heaven,  not  in  Israel.     For  the  world 

Is  to  be  burnt,  with  all  its  disbelievers. 

And  when  it's  burnt,  sitting  at  God's  right  hand 

He'll  rule  forever  with  his  own!    You  see 

What  we  expected  vanished  in  such  words, 

Such  madness,  idle  dreams. 

But,  as  I  said, 

His  lineage  was  David's;  Matthew,  Mark 
Will  tell  you  so.     But  David  said  of  Christ, 
Calling  him  Lord ;  sit  thou  on  my  right  hand 
Till  I  make  enemies  of  thine  thy  foot-stool. 
"How  is  Christ  son  of  David,  being  his  Lord?" 
Asked  Jesus  of  the  Pharisees,  closed  their  mouths 
With  asking  that.    The  common  people  heard 
Him  gladly  when  he  said  this — true  enough! 
[197] 


THE  TWO  MALEFACTORS 

But  I,  my  brothers,  did  not  hear  him  gladly. 
For  if  he  were  the  son  of  God,  yet  equal 
In  being  and  in  time  with  God,  why  not 
The  son  and  lord  of  David  ?    Both  perplex 
The  spirit  of  man ;  one  mystery  is  as  dark 
As  another  mystery,  and  if  one  be  so,  then 
Another  may  be  also.    Pass  the  point.  .  .  . 

They  crucified  my  brothers  with  him!     Both 
Railed  on  him  for  deliverance  from  the  cross. 
If  he  were  God,  he  could  have  plucked  the  nails 
And  let  them  down,  escape.    And  listen  now: 
My  brothers  kept  their  faith  in  him  to  the  last, 
And  since  they  were  condemned  and  had  to  pay 
For  insurrection  on  the  cross,  chose  out 
His  day  of  crucifixion  for  their  own ; 
Believed  that  he  would  save  them,  and  so  make 
This  choosing  of  his  time  of  penalty 
An  hour  of  luck.    And  so  I  tell  you  truth : 
Though  both  were  railing  it  was  rather  pain 
Than  lack  of  hope  that  made  them  rail  at  him. 
Nor  was  it  mockery  that  made  them  rail. 
They  hoped  to  stir  him  by  their  words,  evoke 
His  greatest  strength  to  help  them  that  they  railed. 
They  even  smiled  a  little  when  the  nails 
Were  driven  through  their  hands,  as  if  to  say: 
"You  cannot  harm  us  when  this  god  is  here; 
Go,  do  your  butcher  business,  for  at  last 
He'll  save  himself  and  us."    And  just  as  men 


THE  TWO  MALEFACTORS 

Refuse  to  think  death  near,  and  still  believe 

They  will  escape  it  somehow,  when  no  aid, 

But  human  hands  is  near,  my  brothers  thought 

This  god  would  surely  save  them.    So  they  talked, 

Hunched  up  their  le^s  and  shoulders  to  ease  up 

The  strain  of  hanging  on  the  nails,  and  waited. 

Joked  with  the  lookers  on,  and  smiled  and  begged, 

And  sweated  agony  and  railed  at  last. 

But  when  the  voices  in  the  crowd  called  out: 

"If  you  trust  God,  let  God  deliver  you, 

If  you  are  God's  son,  let  Him  save  you  now; 

Save  thou  thyself!"  my  older  brother  said: 

"If  I  were  off  this  cross  I'd  break  your  heads, 

You  crooked  priests,  you  whited  scpulchers, 

You  carrion  Scribes  and  Pharisees." 

And   such   noise 

As  they  cast  lots  to  get  his  garments,  shouts 
When  they  were  won  and  parted !    In  a  silence 
He  asked  his  Father  to  forgive  them,  saying 
They  knew  not  what  they  did.     My  brother  bawled 
"They  know  what  they  are  doing,  they  have  killed 
The  prophets  in  all  ages!     Don't  say  that ! 
Don't  end  up  soft,  you  cursed  them  hitherto, 
These  are  the  vipers  that  you  cursed  before; 
These  are  the  vultures  that  you  said  you'd  shut 
The  gates  of  heaven  against ;  these  are  the  wolves 
That  thirst  for  blood  and  lap  it,  unrepentant 
Blasphemers  against  you  and  the  Holy  Ghost; 
['99] 


THE  TWO  MALEFACTORS 

Committers  of  unpardonable  sins,  the  band 

You  drove  with  knotted  cords  from  out  the  temple. 

And  what  is  usury  or  selling  doves 

To  killing  you?    Why  ask  your  Father  this? 

Why  now  this  softness?    Change  of  mood,  why  prayers 

Instead  of  curses?    If  you're  dying,  sire, 

Be  what  you  were  when  you  were  flush  with  life, 

And  curse  them  into  hell.     Hold  to  your  strength, 

And  curse  them  into  hell."    And  so  it  went 

With  talking  back  and  forth,  mixed  in  with  groans, 

And  curses,  railings,  while  my  brothers  twisted 

Their  bodies,  and  hunched  up  their  thighs  and  backs 

To  ease  the  strain  of  hanging  on  the  nails, 

And  dribbled  at  the  mouth,  and  babbled  things 

And  laughed  like  devils  in  a  soul  possessed. 

But  when  he  thirsted  and  they  took  a  sponge 

And  gave  him  vinegar,  and  he  sucked  it  in, 

They  looked  at  him  with  eyes  that  bulged  with  fear: — 

They  saw  him  drooping,  fainting,  losing  strength, 

They  struggled  then  and  shouted:  "Keep  on  breathing! 

Breathe  deep!     Call  on  your  Father!     Don't  give  up! 

Fight  for  your  life,  your  god-head  and  ourselves! 

We're  here  because  you  came  and  preached,  and  stirred 

The  people!     Don't  desert  us  now!     Great  Lord, 

Messiah,  Son  of  God,  are  we  first  martyrs 

To  what  you  failed  to  do?    We  cannot  die, 

You  must  not  die.    Let  David's  throne  be  lost 

As  lost  it  is,  but  not  our  lives!   Great  Lord!" 

[200] 


THE  TWO  MALEFACTORS 

Thus  as  they  chattered,  chattered,  bawled  and  shouted 

Jesus  threw  hack  his  head  and  cried  so  loud 

That  all  the  valleys  echoed  it:  "My  God, 

My  God,  why  hast  thou  forsaken  me?"    And  then 

His  head  dropped  on  his  chest — and  he  was  dead.  .  .  . 

They  looked  at  him — my  brothers  looked  at  him, 
And  whimpered — they  were  beaten,  but  fought  on. 
Tears  stained  with  blood  went  coursing  down  their  cheeks. 
And  then  the  soldiers  came  to  break  their  legs. 
And  one  had  fainted,  but  the  other  one 
Was  fighting  still  and  said:  "Have  mercy  friend, 
Caesar  would  save  me,  what  does  Caesar  care 
For  one  poor  rebel?" 

Then  they  broke  their  legs, 
And  all  were  dead.     So  ended  up  another 
Chapter  in  this  poor  world's  hopeless  hope. 


[201] 


BERENICE 

AGRIPPA 
How  is  it  with  this  people  ? 

FESTUS 

Much  the  same. 

They  kick  the  Roman  rule.     Like  flame  in  stubble, 
Which  being  slapped  with  sticks,  leaps  up  and  spreads, 
Oppression  makes  them  hotter. 

BERENICE 

And  why  not? 

Seeing  their  customs,  altars,  arks  and  temples 
The  beauty  of  their  faith,  as  they  have  dreamed  it, 
And  fashioned  it  with  hands  from  gold  and  wood 
Is  desecrated. 

FESTUS 

How  to  firmly  keep 

The  rule  of  Caesar,  leave  their  god  untouched, 
That  is  the  problem.    Where  the  state  and  god 
Are  one,  inseparable,  can  Caesar  rule 
And  not  subject  their  god?    There  was  this  Judas 
Together  with  a  Pharisee  named  Sadduk 
Who  fought  the  Roman  census  of  the  Jews, 

[202] 


BERENICE 

Raised  revolution  in  religion's  name, 
A  cunning  strategy.    You  could  not  crush 
The  revolution,  leave  their  faith  unharmed. 
And  now  this  new  sect  called  the  Nazarenes — 
The  country's  in  a  tumult. 

AGRIPPA 

Yes,  these  Nazarenes, 
The  worst  of  all. 

BERENICE 

I  have  heard  the  desert 
Fosters  a  little  burr  of  poisonous  spines 
Which  sometimes  as  the  lion  roams  the  sands, 
Sticks  in  the  hairy  clefts  between  his  claws. 
It  itches,  stings,  and  maddens;  with  a  growl 
The  lion  lays  him  down  and  with  his  tongue 
Licks  out  the  pest.     It  sticks  upon  his  tongue. 
He  has  no  second  tongue  to  lick  it  thence. 
It  sticks  and  stings.    The  poison  spreads  apace 
And  puffs  the  rebelling  member  till  his  throat 
Narrows  for  breath.    And  then  he  runs  and  roars, 
And  with  his  nose  plows  through  the  sand,  lies  down, 
Digs  in  the  desert,  leaps,  rolls  over,  froths, 
Grows  green  of  eye;  chokes  to  his  death  at  last. 
Rome  is  your  lion,  and  the  burr  these  Jews. 

AGRIPPA 

Sweet  sister,  be  as  apt  with  counsel  as 
Your  parable  is  apt. 

[203] 


BERENICE 

BERENICE 

You  have  my  word. 

Let  them  alone,  their  internecine  strife 
'Twixt  sect  and  sect  fight  out.    Madmen  they  are 
And  zealots — let  them  choke  and  strive  and  wail. 
Jesus  they  killed  and  Stephen.    But  should  Rome 
Repress  religions,  doctrines,  script  or  speech  ? 
If  what  they  teach  be  false  'twill  die,  if  true 
You  cannot  kill  it. 

AGRIPPA 

You  could  say  as  well 
If  thickets  bear  no  apples  they  will  die; 
If  they  bear  apples  you  can  kill  them  not. 
But  thickets  bear  no  apples.     Apple  trees 
Fall  easily  to  the  ax.    And  so  with  truth, 
And  false  truth.    Where  you  have  one  man  who's  wise 
You  have  a  million  fools,  who  take  the  stones 
Of  ignorance  and  error  in  their  hands 
And  overwhelm  the  wise.    Rome  shall  not  fall, 
Recede,  relent  before  a  mob  like  this. 

FESTUS 

They  seem  to  thrive  by  being  mowed,  and  yet 

If  left  uncut  they  choke  us.    There  is  Paul, 

My  heritage  from  Felix,  jailed  two  years, 

And  brought  before  me  by  the  Jews,  who  charged 

Offenses  numerous  against  him,  such 

As  breaches  of  the  Jewish  law,  attacks 

Upon  their  temple,  on  the  emperor, 

[204] 


BERENICE 

Contemned  perhaps,  the  which  they  could  not  prove. 
Now  to  report  to  you,  O  King,  my  judgment 
Divided  in  the  case  of  Paul.     I  sought 
To  do  the  Jews  a  pleasure.    So  I  asked : 
Will  you  go  to  Jerusalem  and  be  judged? 
But  Paul  replied :  I  stand  at  Caesar's  seat, 
There  should  my  judgment  be. 

AGRIPPA 

O,  wicked  Rome, 

Whose  laws  become  a  haven  to  her  foes 
When  they  are  troubled. 

FESTUS 

Yes,  I  told  these  Jews 
Rome  does  not  give  a  man  to  die  before 
He  meets  his  accusers  face  to  face,  has  time 
To  answer  for  himself.    And  so  it  was 
I  came  to  Gcsarea,  had  him  brought 
And  heard  the  case.    As  I  supposed,  they  charged 
This  Paul  with  nothing,  only  matters  raised 
Of  their  own  superstitions,  and  of  Jesus 
Whom  Paul  affirmed,  affirms  to  be  alive, 
Though  dead  long  since.     But  as  he  had  appealed 
To  Carsar  I  commanded  he  be  kept 
Till  I  might  send  him.     But  what  shall  I  say? 
How  shall  I  send  him,  after  all,  to  Caesar 
Without  a  writing  that  shall  signify 
Why  and  for  what  I  send  him?    Caesar's  time 
Is  not  for  crimeless  causes. 

[205] 


BERENICE 

AGRIPPA 

Nevertheless 

As  he's  appealed  to  Caesar  he  must  go. 
But  I  would  hear  him. 

FESTUS 

I  have  sent  for  him 
That  you  may  hear  him.    There,  he  enters  now! 

(Paul  is  brought  in.) 
He  has  a  speech  that  he  has  often  made 
How  first  he  persecuted,  for  in  truth  Agrippa 
He  is  a  catapult  that  has  sprung  up 
As  far  as  he  was  pulled  the  other  way. 
And  he  will  tell  you  how  he  stoned  this  Stephen, 
And  hunted  Nazarenes:  and  how  he  went 
With  writs  of  persecution  from  the  priests 
Up  to  Damascus,  on  the  way  saw  light 
From  heaven,  heard  the  voice  of  Jesus  cry 
That  he  should  be  a  minister  to  the  faith, 
And  preach  as  he  had  persecuted.    You  see 
The  rebound  of  nature,  mind. 

BERENICE 

How  thin, 

How  pale  he  is,  how  bright  his  eyes!    Agrippa 
Confine  him  to  the  matter  of  this  god 
Who  died,  and  from  the  dead  arose.    O  Death, 
You  are  man's  horror,  and  we  brood  upon  you, 
Our  altars  are  placations  to  your  wrath. 
This  Paul  is  mad  for  thinking  of  you,  mad 

[206] 


BERENICE 

With  faith  that  he  has  conquered  you.     Look  there! 
See  how  his  eyes  are  staring  bright  as  fire — 
I  am  afraid.     And  yet  if  it  were  true 
Jesus  arose,   nay   if   the  world  could   be 
Persuaded  that  he  rose,  the  faith  would  sweep 
The  world  with  fire,  and  crumble  every  temple 
And  altar  of  our  gods  in  almighty  Rome. 
Look  how  he  stares! 

AGRIPPA 

There  is  a  noble  madness, 
A  madness  which  has  slaved  nobility 
And  energy  and  eloquence.     Say  now 
Who  saw  this  Jesus  after  he  arose? 
Did  Paul?    Who  saw  him? 

FESTUS 

No  one  that  I  know. 

Not  Paul.     He  says  a  multitude.     Some  disciples, 
Some  women,  and  one  Peter. 

AGRIPPA 

Where  are  they? 

Bring  one  to  me.     Bring  Peter;  bring  a  woman. 
This  is  the  cause  I'd  hear.     And  if  this  Paul 
Can  bring  me  witness,  though  his  crime  were  great 
As  Hannibal's  on  Rome,  I'll  set  him  free. 
Why  look  at  him!     Is  this  new  matter  to  me? 
Is  he  the  first  who  for  the  gods  went  mad  ? 
[207] 


BERENICE 

Or  for  the  mystery  of  life  went  mad  ? 

Or  madness  took  for  what  we  are  and  why, 

And  what  this  life  means?     For  this  world  has  seen 

A  perfect  harmony  and  working  thought 

And  inspiration  in  a  thousand  minds 

Of  madness  on  some  matter.     Fellow,  come 

Close  here  before  me.     Look  at  me.     Yes,  well, 

There  is  the  light  of  rising  suns,  and  stars 

That  burn  immortally,  in  your  eyes.     Now  speak. 

Did  Jesus  die? 

PAUL 

He  died. 

AGRIPPA 

Did  he  arise  ? 

PAUL 
He  arose. 

AGRIPPA 

How  long  being  dead? 

PAUL 

Three  days. 

AGRIPPA 
Saw  you  him  in  life? 

PAUL 

No. 
[208] 


BERENICE 

AGRIPPA 

In  death? 

PAUL 

No. 

AGRIPPA 
After  he  rose? 

PAUL 

No!     I  only  heard  his  voice. 

AGRIPPA 
Where? 

PAUL 

On  the  way  to  Damascus. 

AGRIPPA 

What  did  he  say? 

PAUL 
"It  is  hard  for  thee  to  kick  against  the  pricks." 

AGRIPPA 


What  else? 


PAUL 

I  asked,  "Who  art  thou  Lord?" 


AGRIPPA 

And  then? 

[209] 


BERENICE 

PAUL 

"I  am  Jesus,"  he  said,  "whom  thou  persecutest. 
To  thee  have  I  come  to  make  of  thee  a  witness 
And  a  minister." 

AGRIPPA 

Since  then  you  have  preached, 
For  which  the  Jews  have  persecuted  you 
As  you  stoned  Stephen  ? 

PAUL 

Yes. 

AGRIPPA 

And  you  affirm 
That  Jesus  from  the  dead  arose? 

PAUL 

Thou  hast  said. 

But  also  I  affirm  that  all  shall  rise 
From  death  who  in  the  Christ  believe,  save  those 
Who  live  now,  and  shall  die  not  ere  he  come. 

AGRIPPA 
He  comes  again? 

PAUL 

Quickly,  even  before 
This  generation  passes. 

[210] 


BERENICE 

AGRIPPA 

You  are  mad. 
Do  you  appeal  to  Caesar? 

PAUL 

I  appeal. 

AGRIPPA 

Why  not  be  stoned  as  Stephen  was  and  rise? 
If  you  believe  in  Jesus,  you  believe 
They  cannot  kill  you. 

PAUL 

As  you  will,  O  King. 
I  must  finish  my  course,  whatever  time  I  die. 

AGRIPPA 

I  could  have  set  you  free,  if  you  had  taken 
To  Caesar  no  appeal.     Being  as  it  is 
I  send  you  up  to  Rome.     Who  can  find  out 
The  workings  of  a  mind?    Yet  true  it  is 
He  saves  himself  out  of  a  cunning  thought 
Of  this  appeal  to  Caesar.     Turn  him  over 
To  the  Centurion  Julius — on  to  Rome. 
We  have  conferred  together.     He  has  done 
No  thing  deserving  death.     Take  him  to  Rome. 
He'll  find  a  house  and  hire  it,  in  Rome 
Live  unmolested,  preach,  hear  Mithra  preached 
Who  cheated  death,  they  say,  as  Jesus  did. 
Now  let  us  rise  and  to  the  banquet  room. 
Come  Sister,  Festus,  to  the  banquet  room. 

[211] 


NEBUCHADNEZZAR:    OR  EATING  GRASS 

Nebuchadnezzar  the  King,  called  Ha-Rashang, 

Which  is  to  say,  the  wicked,  by  the  Jews; 

I,  King  of  Babylon,  the  beautiful, 

The  mighty  who  have  spread  the  prospering  code 

Of  Hammumrapi,  and  the  obelisk 

Of  diorite  whereon  the  code  is  stamped, 

Kept  in  the  Temple  of  Marduk,  myself 

The  lover  of  progress,  beauty,  breathe  this  prayer: 

Peace  to  all  peoples,  nations,  languages 

That  dwell  in  all  the  earth,  and  also  peace 

Be  multiplied  to  you ;  this  I  record 

Upon  these  bricks  of  Babylon,  and  as  well 

My  glory  and  my  madness. 

First  attend : 

What  would  the  gods,  the  god  Jehovah  even 
Have  me  to  do,  me  gifted  with  this  strength, 
This  wisdom,  skill  in  arms?     Sit  in  a  hut 
Of  mud  beside  the  Tigris,  be  a  marsh 
Of  spirit,  sleeping,  oozing,  grown  with  flags? 
Or  be  Euphrates  rushing,  giving  life 
And  drink  of  life  to  fields?     What  should  I  do? 
Suffer  this  Syra  to  dream  and  drool? 

[212] 


NEBUCHADNEZZAR:    OR   EATING  GRASS 

Jerusalem  to  boast,  dispute  and  trade, 

And  vaunt  its  favoring  heaven,  or  go  forth 

And  smite  Jerusalem  and  Tyre  and  take  them, 

And  lead  their  peoples  back  to  Babylon, 

And  make  them  work  and  serve  me,  build  canals, 

Great  reservoirs,  my  palace,  city  walls, 

The  Hanging  Gardens,  till  my  Babylon 

In  all  this  would  become  a  wonder,  terror 

And  worthy  of  my  spirit,  hope  and  dream; 

A  city  and  a  kingdom  in  the  world 

Become  the  external  substance,  form  and  beauty, 

Administration,  order  of  a  soul 

Lordly  and  gifted — mine,  my  Babylon, 

My  dream  expressed ! 

That  which  I  did  they  tried 
To  do  and  failed  in  doing,  even  themselves 
Would  rule  as  I  have  ruled,  build  as  I  builded, 
\Vin  glory  as  I  won  it;  to  that  end 
Did  they  invoke  their  gods,  and  in  the  mouths 
Of  gods  and  of  Jehovah  put  the  curses 
And  wails  of  failure.     I  have  triumphed,  now 
My  gods  are  full  of  song;  I  have  maintained 
My  kingdom  and  my  spirit,  driving  out 
The  aggressor  Necho,  who  came  forth  from  Egypt, 
Syria  and  Palestine  to  take  from  me, 
Him  I  destroyed  at  Carchemish — my  spirit 
Have  I  regained  and  healed.     And  now  in  age, 
These  eighty  years  of  life  gone  over  me, 


NEBUCHADNEZZAR:    OR   EATING   GRASS 

And  rulership  of  forty  years,  I  sit 
Within  the  level  sun-light  of  my  age, 
And  at  this  close  of  day  upon  my  roof 
And  view  my  Babylon ;  but  without  fear 
Madness  will  come  upon  me  ever  again. 
The  glory  of  my  kingdom  has  returned, 
My  honor  and  my  brightness  have  returned; 
My  counselors  and  lords  have  come  to  me; 
I  am  established  in  my  age,  and  excellent 
Majesty  is  added  unto  me. 

All  this 

Though  here  upon  this  roof,  upon  this  spot, 
My  madness  came  upon  me,  when  I  looked 
Over  the  roofs  and  temples  of  my  city 
And  said:     Is  not  this  Babylon,  the  great, 
That  I  have  builded  for  my  kingdom's  house 
By  the  might  of  my  power  and  for  the  honor 
Of  my  great  majesty?    Why  was  it  so? 

First  genius  and  the  dream,  then  toil  and  pain 
While  hands  lay  stone  on  stone,  and  as  the  stones 
Rise  from  the  earth,  where  naked  slaves  cry  out, 
Wheel,  lift  and  grunt;  and  mortar,  scaffolding, 
Pillars  of  cedar  strewn  confusedly, 
Your  dream  is  blurred,  even  while  your  city  rises 
Out  of  the  dream.     I  was  like  to  a  woman 
In  the  pain  of  travail,  who  is  mad  with  pain, 
Scarce  knows  her  friends  or  what  is  being  done, 


NEBUCHADNEZZAR:    OR    EATING   GRASS 

Nor  needs  to  know,  since  nature  orders  all, 

Delivers  her,  but  lets  the  mid-wife  lift 

The  infant  to  her  breast.     Even  so  with  me, 

I  had  conceived  this  Babylon,  nourished  it 

In  the  womb  of  my  genius  where  it  grew,  came  forth 

Whole  like  a  child  at  last  from  scaffoldings, 

Confusion,  waste  of  mortar,  stone  and  bronze. 

And  when  it  was  accomplished,  then  my  madness 

Came  on  me  in  a  moment  of  clear  seeing 

That  this  which  was  within  me,  was  without  me; 

Was  substance  and  reality  before  me; 

Was  even  myself  gone  out  of  me,  as  the  child 

Goes  from  the  mother — then  my  madness  came 

Not  when  I  saw  it  first,  for  I  had  seen  it 

Both  from  this  roof  and  from  the  Hanging  Gardens, 

And  from  the  temple  of  Bel,  and  in  the  streets; 

But  seen  it  without  knowing,  as  the  mother 

Exhausted,  dulled  with  agony  may  know 

The  child  is  born,  without  the  consciousness, 

The  wonder  and  the  rapture  of  the  child, 

As  the  miracle  that  was  of  her,  but  now 

Is  a  miracle  external  and  a  life, 

A  beauty  separate,  that  walks  from  her 

And  has  its  life  and  way,  herself  and  hers, 

But  different  and  its  own. 

And  so  it  was 

When  I  beheld  my  Babylon,  saw  my  dream 
Spread  out  before  me,  clear  and  definite, 
A  beauty  separate,  my  very  soul 


NEBUCHADNEZZAR:    OR   EATING   GRASS 

Torn  out  of  me  and  fashioned  into  stone, 
Having  its  life  and  way,  myself  and  mine, 
Yet  being  itself,  its  own.     If  I  had  seen 
Myself  divided  and  become  two  men, 
My  other  self  come  toward  me,  stand,  extend 
His  hand  to  me,  my  terror  were  not  more 
Than  this  to  see  my  Babylon.     In  that  moment 
My  madness  came  upon  me. 

But  before, 

Some  nights  and  days  before  this  I  had  lain 
In  troubled  dreams  upon  my  couch,  had  dreamed 
Of  images  and  trees,  for  daily  cares 
Of  empire  and  the  fears  of  change  and  loss 
Had  entered  in  my  dreams.     Cyaxeres 
Dreamed  that  a  vine  grew  from  his  daughter's  womb 
And  overshadowed  Asia,  which  denoted 
Her  offspring  should  be  clothed  with  majesty 
And  rulership  of  Asia.     As  for  me, 
My  tree  was  felled,  only  the  stump  was  left, 
Bound  to  the  earth  with  brass  and  iron — this 
Foretold  what  I  am  now,  as  Daniel  said, 
Interpreting  my  dream.     These  dreams  had  come 
Which  shook  me  for  the  thought  of  human  life — 
How  frail  and  fleeting!     But  again  to  hear 
Curses  about  me  for  my  work  and  genius 
Called  by  these  Jews  Ha-Rashang;  and  to  feel 
Though  I  had  chosen  Daniel,  Hananiah, 
Michael,  Azariah  for  mine  own, 
And  to  be  taught  to  help  me  in  the  task 


NEBUCHADNEZZAR:    OR    EATING   GRASS 

Of  my  administration;  even  though 

I  chose  all  men  for  duty,  wisest  use 

And  in  my  great  humanity  and  strength 

Had  placed  my  subjects  where  they  best  could  serve 

The  beauty  and  the  progress  of  my  city — 

Though,  as  I  said,  to  feel  that  I  had  done 

All  things  for  good  and  with  no  thought  but  good, 

Yet  still  to  hear  these  curses  and  to  see 

The  worthlessness  of  human  kind,  the  crowd, 

I  bowed  my  head  and  prayed  to  Ishtar  saying: 

Make  me  an  animal  and  let  me  feed 

With  beasts  instead  of  these:     So  had  I  prayed 

Before  my  madness  in  that  moment  came. 

Then  as  to  that,  my  madness :   it  was  sunset, 

I  walked  upon  my  palace's  level  roof, 

And  looked  upon  my  Babylon ;  then  I  thought 

Of  all  my  labors,  how  I  had  restored 

The  temples  of  Borsippa,  Uruk,  Ur, 

Sippar  and  Larsa,  Dilbat ;  made  the  plains 

Below  the  great  Euphrates  rich  in  corn; 

Brought  plenty  to  my  people,  bread  and  wine 

To  all  my  people ;  laughter,  as  it  may  be, 

Between  our  fated  tears  to  all  my  people, 

And  then  I  looked  on  Babylon  lying  there 

Beneath  the  evening's  sunlight,  safe  behind 

Its  sixty  miles  of  walls  unscalable, 

Rising  four  hundred  feet,  impregnable 

For  near  a  hundred  feet  of  width  in  stone. 


NEBUCHADNEZZAR:    OR   EATING   GRASS 

I  saw  its  hundred  gates  of  durable  bronze; 

My  eyes  were  lifted  to  the  terraces 

Up,  up  above  the  river  to  the  temple 

Of  Bel  who  blessed  my  city,  and  I  saw 

The  temples  built  to  Nebo,  Sin  and  Nana, 

Marduk  and  Shamash,  saw  my  aqueducts, 

The  houses  of  my  people,  in  between 

The  palm  grooves  and  the  gardens  bearing  food 

Enough  to  feed  the  city  if  besieged; 

Beheld  the  Hanging  Gardens  which  I  built 

To  soothe  Amytis,  who  had  memories 

Of  mountainous  Media,  gazing  on 

The  Babylonian  plains. 

So  as  I  stood 

And  looked  upon  my  city,  voices  passed 
Below  me  muttering  Ha-Rashang,  and  then 
This  Babylon,  my  Babylon,  lay  before  me 
As  my  genius  realized,  grown  out  of  me, 
Myself  become  another,  and  a  being 
Which  once  was  me,  but  now  no  more  was  me, 
Was  mine  and  was  not  mine;  and  with  that  thought 
Rising  like  Enlil,  god  of  storm  and  thunder, 
Over  my  terrored  spirit,  I  grew  mad 
And  fled  among  the  beasts,  where  for  a  season 
I  ate  grass  with  the  oxen,  let  the  dew 
Fall  on  my  body,  till  my  hairs  were  grown 
Like  eagle's  feathers  and  my  nails  were  grown 
Like  claws  of  birds.     In  madness  and  in  hate 
Of  men  and  life,  in  loathing  of  my  glory, 

[218] 


NEBUCHADNEZZAR:    OR   EATING   GRASS 

My  genius  and  my  labors  did  I  live; 

In  loathing  of  these  tribes  who  hate  the  mother 

Goddess  of  our  ritual  and  belief: 

Tribes  who  have  made  religion  of  the  hate 

Of  procreative  nature,  curse  the  flame 

Of  beauty,  and  of  love  wherewith  I  built 

This  Babylon  of  glory,  lust  of  life; 

Till  nature  cured  me  and  I  came  again 

To  rule  my  Babylon,  my  excellence 

Of  majesty  returned. 

What  am  I  now, 

Bowed  with  these  eighty  years?     My  Babylon, 
What  is  it  now  to  me?     I  am  a  father 
Whose  son  is  aging,  even  has  made  his  place 
And  lived  to  see  it  fade,  diminish.     A  son 
So  old  his  sonship  is  a  memory, 
Has  almost  ceased  to  be — that's  Babylon. 
And  I,  the  father,  know  this  Babylon 
As  creature  of  my  loins,  yet  indeed 
This  city  scarcely  differs  from  the  cities 
That  lie  afar,  as  aging  sons  are  men 
Among  the  men  of  earth,  but  scarcely  more 
To  a  father  bent  with  time  than  other  men. 
For  in  my  riotous  genius,  like  a  vine 
I  did  put  forth  this  branch,  the  vine  decays, 
The  branch  will  live  a  season.     Out  of  genius 
And  lust  of  life  to  madness,  out  of  madness 
To  this  tranquillity,  and  this  setting  sun, 
This  peace  with  heaven. 

[219] 


HIP  LUNG  ON  YUAN  CHANG 

You  like  store?     You  like  Chinese  tea?     You  like  me? 

You  like  silk,  fan,  screen,  dragon,  pearl  chair,  jade; 

You  like  Chinese  tobacco,  picture,  Budda  too, 

Well,  as  Geesu  Klist?    All  light  Lee, 

You  Chinaman,  maybe.     I  like  Chicago  too. 

I   like  you,   and   Hinky  Dink,   lots  I   like. 

Good  city  here,  much  friends.     I  make  some  money, 

Go  back  to  China  sometime.     Keep  store  here, 

Come  back  to  store. 

China  old  country,  vely  old  country, 
Wise  country,  much  wise  men  long  time  ago. 
Here  book  Shu  Ching,  about  old  time, 
More'n  tree  tousand  year  ago.     Here  Lun  Yu  book 
About  Confucius,  live  long  time  ago,  much  time 
Before  live  Geesu  ;  taught  love  one  another, 
Be  good  to  good  men ;  bad  men  be  fair  to ;  speak  truth. 
Where  sun  and  moon  shine,  all  place,  love  and  honor 
Come  to  Confucius,  brother  of  God. 

More   yet : 

Lao  Tzu  great  man,  too,  who  say  be  good 
To  bad  men ;  Chinaman  read ;  close  book  and  speak 
What  book  says;  to  be  wise,  Chinese  learn  to  speak 

[220] 


HIP  LUNG  ON  YUAN   CHANG 

What  book  say  closed,  on  shelf,  burned  up,  or  lost. 

Chicago  good  town,  Amelika  good  country,  England, 

Europe  good  country  too,  but  China  good  country, 

Wise  long  time  ago,  when  no  Amelika  was, 

No  town  in  England,  and  no  book  in  Europe, 

Two  tousand  year  before  Geesu  Kliste  came. 

Some  say  Budda  greater  than  Kliste ; 

Chinee  say  Confucius  greater  than  Budda. 

I  say  all  gods;  leave  alone — what  you  care? 

Kill  Chinaman  if  you  wish,  golden  rule  is  golden  rule 

In  Pekin,  or  Jerusalem. 

Geesu   Kliste  people, 

Salvation  Army  come  and  say:    "Hip  Lung, 
Be  saved,  love  Geesu  Kliste,  be  baptized." 
I  know  the  Four  Books,  I  say  the  Four  Books 
And  never  look;  but  when  I  say  Confucius 
Taught  Golden  Rule  and  love,  they  say,  not  clear 
Like  Geesu  Kliste,  Confucius  heathen  man, 
Not  good  like  Geesu  Kliste.     All  light!     All  light! 
I  sing  about  the  Dragon  Boats,  go  round 
The  store  till  they  go  on.     They  no  read 
The  Four  Books,  no  care.     Sometime  I  ask 
Why  China  not  hear  about  Geesu  Kliste  for  years. 
Why?     Eh?    We  hear  of  Budda,  why 
No  hear  of  Kliste? 

Kliste  people  say 

Tree  hundred  year  they  know   Kliste  comin'— 
China  no  hear.     China  hear  'bout  Budda 
[221] 


HIP  LUNG  ON  YUAN  CHANG 

Tree  hundred  year  after  Budda  die. 

Ming  Ti,  great  king,  sent  down  India 

To  hear  'bout  God  Budda. 

China  no  hear  of  Kliste  then  .  .  . 

Tousand  year  after  God  Budda  die, 

Great  man  come  to  China;  Fa  Hsien, 

Kliste  dead  now  four  hundred  year, 

But  China  no  hear.     Why? 

Fa  Hsien  go  to  India  to  get  books  about  Budda. 

Go  trou  Gobi  desert — no  birds,  tigers, 

But  much  dragons  and  devils. 

Fa  Hsien  go  to  Benares,  Budda,  Gaya,  Ceyloa 

Come  back  with  books  about  light  way ; 

See  light,  hope  light,  speak  light, 

Do  light,  live  light,  try  light ;  light  mind, 

Light  happiness.    And  China  hear 

And  love  Budda!  .  .  . 

Kliste  dead  four  hundred  year — 

Alle  time  much  people  in  China,  temples,  cities, 

Much  books,  many  wise  men. 

And  Kliste  dead  now  six  hundred  year, 

And  China  no  hear.     Kliste! 

Same  time  god  Budda  grow  in  China. 

Kliste  dead  more'n  six  hundred  year, 

And  Arabs  come  from  Medina  to  Canton, 

Tell  about  prophet  of  God  Muhammed— Allah! 

But  no  Kliste  much. 

[222] 


HIP  LUNG  ON  YUAN  CHANG 

Next  year,  Kliste  dead  now  'bout  630  year. 
Salvation  Army  come  from  Persia,  and  China  hear 
'Bout  Kliste,  too  late;  god  Budda  worshipped  now 
By  much  China  people. 

Year  before  Salvation  Army  from  Persia 

Great  man  come  again:     Yuan  Chang. 

He  JO  to  India  to  get  books 

'Bout  god  Budda,  and  see  holy  place. 

You  no  hear  'bout  Yuan  Chang?     No? 

Greek  men,  great  men,  and  Cheeser, 

Napoleon  great  men  and  popes,  and  Roosevelt — 

All  light !     Yuan  Chang  great  man  too. 

Like  Fa  Hsien  he  go  trou  Gobi  desert, 

Fight  robbers,  dragons,  no  water,  no  food; 

See  much  broken  cities; 

Go  from  Samarkand  to  Nepal  ; 

Gone  fourteen  years; 

Come  back  to  Singor, 

Tai-tsung  emperor  now, 

And  vely  glad  to  see  Yuan  Chang, 

Who  bring  tousands  of  books  by  god  Budda, 

Gold,  silver,  crystal  images  of  god  Budda, 

And  bones  of  god  Budda,  hair,  nails,  leaves  of  Bo  tree, 

All  like  that.     Where  is  Kliste  now?     I  don't  know. 

China  hear  not  much.  .  .  . 

Tai-tsung  great  emperor!     Know  much  too! 
Know  about  Allah,  know  about  Budda, 
[223] 


HIP  LUNG  ON  YUAN  CHANG 

Know  about  Kliste,  and  Salvation  Army. 

But  Tai-tsung  no  give  a  damn, 

Only  say  to  Yuan  Chang: 

Write  Budda  books  in  China  language. 

And  write  Lao  Tzu  in  Indian  language. 

Trade  gods  that  way!     We  no  lose. 

Maybe  India  see  more  in  Lao  Tzu 

Than  China,  who  knows?     All  time 

Kliste  dead  more'n  six  hundred  year, 

And  no  body  say  much  bout  Kliste, 

And  China  goin'  to  hell,  as  Salvation  Army  say, 

Alle  time. 

Kliste  dead  six  hundred  year, 

Salvation  Army  come  to  England, 

And  baptize  everybody;  but  China  no  hear. 

Kliste  dead  eighteen  hundred  year, 

England  come  to  China  for  Kliste  and  opium — 

Make  nice  dreams — what  you  care 

'Bout  Budda,  Kliste— Smoke?     Eh? 


[224] 


ULYSSES 

Settled  to  evenings  before  the  doorway 
With  Telemachus,  who  sat  at  his  knee, 
"Why  did  you  stay  so  long  from  Ithaca, 
Leaving  my  mother  Penelope?" 

The  eyes  of  the  hero  rolled  and  wandered, 
Thinking  of  Scylla  and  Sicily. 
"That's  a  hard  question,"  answered  Ulysses, 
"Harder,  if  answered,  for  you  to  see. 


"There  was  the  Cyclops,  there  was 
There  were  the  Sirens,  and  Hades  for  me; 
Apollo's  oxen,  Hades'  horrors, 
Circe,  and  then  Ogygia. 

"All  these  after  the  war,  Telemachus— 
Too  long  a  tale,  as  you  will  agree. 
The  bards  must  write  it,  when  you  are  older 
Read  till  the  gray  hairs  give  you  the  key 

"Of  the  wonder  and  richness  that  were  your  father's 
Life  in  the  war,  the  long  way  home. 
No  man  has  lived,  as  I,  Telemachus, 
None  ever  will  live  in  the  days  to  come 

[225] 


ULYSSES 

"A  life  that  followed  the  paths  and  hollows 
Of  Time,  the  wayward  ways  of  the  streams 
That  flow  round  earth,  the  winds  and  waters 
Of  passion,  wisdom,  thought  and  dreams. 

"There  are  two  things,  my  boy,  and  only 
Two  in  the  world,  remember  this: 
One  thing  is  men,  the  other  women, 
And  after  the  two  of  them  nothing  is. 

"I  have  known  men  as  king  and  warrior, 
Known  them  as  liegmen,  spears  of  the  line. 
Good  enough  lamps  for  workaday  darkness — 
They  are  not  food,  they  are  not  wine; 

"They  are  not  heat  that  stir  the  secret 
Core  of  the  seed  of  a  man,  be  sure. 
And  I,  Ulysses,  needed  the  planets, 
And  suns  of  the  spring  to  live,  mature." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Telemachus, 
"And,  say  is  it  true  you  lost  eight  years 
Away  from  Ithaca,  me  and  my  mother 
Because  of  a  certain  Calypso's  tears?" 

The  eyes  of  the  hero  rolled  and  wandered. 
"There  now,  my  boy,  you  have  the  truth. 
I'll  try  to  tell  you  perhaps  you'll  get  it 
In  spite  of  your  filial  love  and  your  youth. 

[226] 


ULYSSES 

"First,   understand   there  are  two  things  only; — 

One  is  women,  the  other  men. 

And  men  I  knew  before  and  at  Troyland, 

And  searched  their  hearts  again  and  again. 

"What  do  you  get?     Secrets  of  cunning, 
Cruelty,  strength,  and  much  that  you  use 
In  the  battle  with  them;  but  what's  a  woman? 
She  is  the  mother,  she  is  the  Muse 

"That  leads  and  lifts  to  life — Telemachus 
How  can  I  tell  you? — have  a  care! 
Young  men  seize  on  the  words  of  wisdom, 
And  find  their  hands  in  a  silken  snare, 

"Hearing  blindly,  seeing  literally, 
What  is  a  sword,  a  lamp,  a  shield  ? 
Touch  and  learn,  the  name  is  only 
The  shell  wherein  the  thing  is  concealed." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Telemachus. 
"What  do  I  mean?     Attend  to  me! 
I'll  try  to  tell  you,  telling  a  story 
Of  the  island  called  Ogygia. 

"I  know  women — how  shall  I  tell  you? 
Women  are  good,  and  good  is  wine. 
Yet  how  to  tell  the  wine  and  women 
That  turn  her  adorers  into  swine. 

[227] 


ULYSSES 

"You  must  have  aid  of  Hermes,  swiftness 
Of  spirit  and  sense  to  tell  them  apart ; 
How  to  be  strong,  how  to  be  tender, 
How  to  surrender  and  keep  your  heart. 

"Easy  for  me  to  baffle  Circe, 

Easy  the  Sirens  to  slip — just  wax! 

I  steered  for  Ithaca,  you  and  your  mother, 

Isle  to  isle  on  the  ocean's  tracks, 

"Until  I  came  and  saw  Calypso. 
Son  you  would  be  with  Calypso  yet. 
It  takes  a  hero  suppled  in  flame 
To  see  Calypso,  and  leave,  forget 

Face  and  voice  enough  to  leave  her, 
Spurn  her  promises,  turn  from  her  tears, 
Come  to  Ithaca  with  this  doorway, 
Age  that  hovers,  the  little  years." 

"What  do  you  mean  ?"  asked  Telemachus. 
"Live  and  learn,"  Ulysses  replied. 
"Calypso  promised  me  youth  eternal 
If  I  would  stay  and  make  her  my  bride." 

"And  why  not  stay?"  asked  Telemachus 
"To  have  her  for  wife,  if  not  a  youth 
Eternal  given  you?"    "Boy  of  me  listen 
Now  for  the  core  of  the  deepest  truth: 

[228] 


ULYSSES 

"We  dined  in  grottoes  of  blooming  ivy; 
\\Y  supped  in  halls  of  cedar  and  gold; 
We  slept  on  balconies,  sapphire  tented — 
But  even  I  found  this  growing  old. 

"I  saw  her  beauty  bare  by  star  light, 
And  by  the  sea  in  the  sun,  and  stoled 
In  silk  as  white  as  snow  on  Parnassus — 
But  even  I  found  this  growing  old. 

"Her  tresses  smelt  of  the  blooms  of  Hymettus, 
Her  breasts  were  cymbals  sweet  to  behold; 
Her  voice  was  a  harp  of  pearl  and  silver  — 
But  even  I  found  this  growing  old. 

"Her  lips  were  like  the  flame  of  a  taper 
Scented  and  musical,  as  she  would  fold 
White  arms  over  the  brawn  of  my  shoulders — 
But  even  I  found  this  growing  old. 

"She  promised   me  this  and  youth   forever, 
So  long  as  the  sun  and  the  planets  rolled. 
I  knew  they  were  gifts  she  could  not  give  me, 
Empty  promises  too  grow  old. 

"And  even  if  given,  why  forever 
Live  the  things  that  have  grown  enough? 
She  loved  me,  wonderful  Calypso. 
But  what  is  love?     It  is  onlv  love. 
£229] 


ULYSSES 

"And  the  salt  of  a  man  turns  to  his  doorway, 
He  makes  his  will  for  his  blood  at  the  end. 
My  boy,  that's  why  I  left  Calypso 
And  came  to  you — do  you  comprehend? 

"To  sit  unshorn,  and  clothed  as  I  choose, 
Talk  with  the  swineherd,  potter  or  shirk, 
Babble  at  ease,  my  boy,  with  your  mother 
Around  the  house  at  rest  or  at  work. 

"And  you  must  not  forget,  Telemachus, 
In  order  to  have  immortality 
It  had  to  be  with  Calypso — therefore 
I  came  to  you  and  Penelope, 

"Who  soon  will  leave  me,  at  best,  or  else 
I'll  leave  you  for  the  Isles  of  the  Blest. 
I  find  this  doorway  good,  Telemachus, 
As  a  place  to  dream  and  a  place  to  rest." 

"I  do  not  understand,  Ulysses, 

Father  of  me.     At  first  the  call 

Of  the  blood,  I  thought,  would  hasten  you  homeward. 

And  now  I  wonder  you  came  at  all 

"Here  to  Ithaca.     What,  my  father, 
Is  here  but  my  mother  growing  old; 
Aged  Laertes,  Telemachus — 
What  of  Calypso's  hair  of  gold  ? 
[230] 


ULYSSES 

"What  of  the  island,  what  of  the  feasting, 
What  of  her  kisses,  were  it  I 
I'd  spurn  eternal  youth,  as  a  mortal 
Live  with  Calypso  until  I  should  die." 

"I  have  no  doubt,"  said  the  many  minded 
Great  Ulysses.     "It's  plain  to  see 
You  are  a  boy  yet.     When  is  supper? 
Go  ask  your  mother  Penelope." 


THE  PARTY 

Our  wishes  not  consulted  whether 
We  chose  to  come,  not  even  the  hour, 
Some  would  have  asked  for  fairer  weather 
Than  on  a  day  of  sun  and  shower. 
No  chance  to  choose!     And  some  got  wet, 
Were  sick  and  nervous  while  they  stayed ; 
Others  came  in  the  sun,  the  debt 
Of  Fortune  to  them  overpaid. 
We  all  came  ignorant,  willy-nilly, 
Pell  mell,  piebald,  grave  and  silly, 
Resistless  to  the  party  drawn, 
Which  had  gone  on  and  would  go  on 
From  dawn  to  night  and  night  to  dawn. 
Though  some,  it  seemed,  had  scarcely  come 
Before  they  left;  and  some  at  noon, 
Or  morning  bade   adieu.     The  moon 
Saw  others  take  departure  home. 
All  talked  about  it  as  you  would  ; 
Esteemed  it  dull,  over  too  soon, — 
Bad,  sad,  or  wearing,  very  good! 

Over  too  soon !     Yet  truth  to  tell 
It  was  a  lasting  festival. 
Guests  had  to  leave — and  that  was  all. 
To  each  some  different  thing  befell. 

[232] 


THE  PARTY 

The  party  went  on  just  the  same. 

First  guests  departed,  late  arrived; 

Fresh  candles  burned  with  brighter  flame; 

New  cakes  were  cut,  and  laughter  thrived 

Over  a  wit  re-sharpened.     Crumbs 

Of  eaten  things  were  brushed  away; 

Dishes  were  cleared  and  lovelier  bowls 

Were  piled  with  new  picked  grapes  and  plums. 

The  place  the  while  was  mad  and  gay 

Because  of  sad  and  merry  souls. 

There  was  a  room  for  love's  romancing ; 

A  room  for  talk,  a  room  for  dancing; 

A  room  for  globes  and  maps  and  books; 

A  room  with  sky  lights,  a  room  of  nooks; 

A  room  of  pictures,  marbles,  bronzes ; 

Guns,  gauntlets,  spears,  armor,  sconces; 

A  room  of  racks  and  torture  hooks; 

A  room  of  ikons,  shrines  and  josses; 

A  room  of  crosiers,  cups  and  crosses; 

A   room — but  everything  was  here — 

That  brain  can  think  of,  plan  or  make 

To  shackle  spirits,  honor  brows, 

To  thrill  the  heart,  or  start  the  tear, 

Or  stir  a  rapture,  or  an  ache — 

It  was  a  wonder  house! 

I  noticed  this:  You  enter  with 
Fellow  ar rivers,  ill  at  ease. 
The  rooms  are  full,  and  some  of  these 

[233] 


THE  PARTY 

Know  you,  but  only  with  their  eyes 

Acknowledge  you  in  mild  surprise. 

Listen !  and  you  will  get  the  pith 

And  meaning  of  what  went  before 

From  these.     The  high  ones  talk  in  myth, 

Who  own  the  rooms — in  loose  ellipsis 

Show  what  their  tried  out  fellowships' 

Inner  communion  is  and  lore. 

But  kinder  souls  say:  "Some  one  great 

Was  here  before  you  came."     "This  thing 

Happened  this  morning."     "Look!  that  one 

Just  going  out,  is  so  and  so." 

"There  comes  the  waiter  with  your  plate!" 

"You  should  have  heard  that  woman  sing! 

She's  going!"     "Oh,  we've  had  such  fun." 

"What  happened?    What's  ahead?    It's  slow!" 

Late  stayers  stare  your  ignorance : 

"Why  don't  they  tell  us?"     "Oh,  no  use, 

You  wouldn't  understand.     You'll  know 

Later,  perhaps,  by  happy  chance. 

And  if  you  don't,  it's  too  abstruse, 

We  have  no  words.     Feed  on  and  run 

The  rooms  around.    You'll  see  what  we 

Have  felt,  seen,  suffered  and  enjoyed." 

And  so  it  is  to  father  and  son, 
Mother  and  maid.     Then  what  should  be? 
The  bell  rings,  some  are  glad,  annoyed: 
New  guests  are  coming,  and  for  some 

[234] 


THE  PARTY 

The  Chauffeur  rings,  the  Car  has  come! 

And  we  who  were  the  novices, 

And  wondered,  stared,  deferred,  inquired, 

Are  now  in  charge,  and  take  amiss 

Curious  questions,  have  acquired 

The  Party's  manner,  secrets,  speech. 

And  see,  as  those  before  us  saw, 

New  and  old  groups  are  troubled,  each 

Is  deaf  and  dumb.     How  can  we  draw 

Their  wordless  wonder  to  the  point? 

What  would  you  know?     How  can  we  reach 

And  vocalize  your  dumbness?    What 

To  ask  of  us  you  do  not  know, 

And  what  to  tell  you  we  know  not — 

Groups,  therefore,  clearly  out  of  joint. 

Yes,  but  they  do  not  know  us  now. 
Most  here  are  strange.     Where  is  the  throng 
With  whom  we  came?     Where  is  the  brow 
Sunny  of  hair,  the  voice  of  song? 
Where  is  the  hand  that  understood, 
Without  a  word?     There's  none  to  hear, 
And  know  our  meaning  as  he  would  .  .  . 
New  wine  is  opened.     No  more  wine! 
New  cake  is  cut.     I  must  instead 
Drink  brandy,  bitters,  heavy  beer. 
I  rather  like  this  coarse,  black  bread. 
Strange  music  plays,  not  high  and  clear. 
No  matter!     For  you  mi^ht  inspect 

[235] 


THE  PARTY 

The  pictures,  marbles,  ooce  again, 

Look  at  the  books  some  more,  correct 

First  errors.     Surely  that  were  well. 

And  you  can  do  it,  having  fared 

So  differently.     Was  that  the  bell? 

"Your  chauffeur's  here!"    "Why  speed  me  so?" 

"Too  bad!     Too  bad  you  have  to  go!" 

Yes,  but  the  party's  over!     No? 

Over  for  me.     And  I  am  tired. 

Desire  for  what  I  once  desired 

Is  dying  or  is  satisfied. 

Tell  him  to  wait  a  moment — yes 

I  wish  to  see  what  may  betide; 

Watch  the  new  comers  laugh  and  feast; 

Watch  eyes  that  glance,  and  breasts  that  heave; 

Watch  cunning,  aspiration,  pride; 

Watch  soldier,  statesman,  poet,  priest; 

Watch  those  who  doubt  and  who  believe, 

Untangle,  tangle,  spin  and  weave. 

I've  helped  to  make  the  party,  still 

The  party  is  not  to  my  will. 

I  can  re-make  it,  now  I  know 

How  to  enjoy  it  better,  use 

Its  hour  more  wisely.    "By  your  leave. 

Just  wait  a  moment!"     "Well,  your  car 

Is  at  the  door  and  must  not  park; 

The  way  you  go  is  rather  far, 

Besides  it's  growing  dark." 

[236] 


THE  PARTY 

Bowed  out!     No  matter!     I  am  due 
At  a  better  party,  so  they  say. 
To-morrow  is  a  better  day — 
Always  to-morrow.     "What  of  you? 
You're  coming?     Well,  I  hope  you  may.*' 
"Meantime  good  night,  a  safe  return, 
And  blessings  on  your  way." 


[337] 


CELSUS  AT  HADRIAN'S  VILLA 

This  is  the  place,  my  friend  Aristo.     Here 

We  sit  and  muse  on  the  state  of  the  world.     Alas! 

What  are  we  coming  to? 

The  tufa  walls 

Inlaid  with  yellow  lichens  look  like  bronze 
Gold  filagreed.     And  through  those  rifts  and  breaks 
There  are  the  trunks  of  ilex,  gnarled  and  dark. 
Look!     Nature  mocks  us.     Hadrian  is  asleep 
These  nearly  hundred  years.     Does  cyclamen 
Crimson  about  these  walls  grow  less  profuse? 
Or  these  anemones  laugh  less  to  the  sun? 
Or  bramble,  honeysuckle,   bougainvillea 
Desert  the  gardens  of  the  emperor? 
The  merle  and  golden-crested  wrens  build  nests, 
Sing  the  hymeneal  song!     But  man,  poor  man, 
Forsakes  his  triumphs,  work,  his  palaces. 
And  barbarous  weeds  sprout  over  them  and  creep, 
And  choke  his  wisdom  and  his  art. 

Let's  sit 

Here  in  this  colonnade.  Philosophers 
From  Rome  and  Athens,  Alexandria, 
From  mystic  India,  walked  this  colonnade, 

[238] 


CELSUS  AT  HADRIAN'S  VILLA 

And  let  the  mind  run  free.     It  is  no  more, 
Unless  we  fight  the  human  weeds  that  spring 
Under  the  rains  that  darken  Rome.     Let's  up 
With  hoes  and  root  them. 


Here's  cat-brier — chop! 

Cat-brier,  Christian  msekness,  fair  to  view — 
But  how  it  stinks!     And  briars:  pain  and  loss 
For  ecstasy  and  gain  beyond — I  chop! 
Chop  here,  Aristo,  get  your  friends  to  chop, 
Lest  all  the  world  be  given  up  to  weeds, 
As  Hadrian's  Villa  is  about  to  be. 
Rome  soon  will  stretch  her  templed  neck  to  breathe 
Above  the  thorns,  the  hyssop.     Even  now 
The  state  is  crumbling  with  the  heresy 
That  Rome  should  not  be  reverenced  and  saved, 
But  every  soul  saved.     The  Imperial  City 
To  which  each  Roman  is  a  servitor 
Put  by  for  doctrine  making  every  heart 
Worthy  of  saving  from  the  wreck  of  life — 
I  chop  this  weed.     And  for  the  soul  of  Rome, 
The  lazar  soul,  the  slave,  the  fuller,  cobbler, 
The  fool,  the  God-forsaken  and  the  child  .  .  . 
What  if  Rome  fall?     The  City  of  God  remains 
Eternal  in  the  Heavens.     Yes,  but  Earth, 
Where  is  thy  city,  if  it  be  not  Rome? 
Destroy  your  Romans,  Hadrians,  what  is  left? — 
Itinerant  exorcists  and  prophets,  idlers, 
And  sacred  beggars,  leper  lips  that  curse 

[239] 


CELSUS  AT  HADRIAN'S  VILLA 

Rome  and  her  beauty!     These  the  citizens 
Of  the  City  of  God !     What  will  that  city  be? 
Themselves  externalized,  as  Rome  has  flowered 
From  Roman  minds;  but  never  a  Hadrian  Villa 
In  the  City  of  God,  never  from  scowls  and  sores! 
No!    You  shall  have  a  world  of  trade  and  lies, 
Of  itching  and  denials,  for  a  world 
Of  freedom  and  expression,  wine  and  song. 
These  huckstering  Jews  are  planting  in  our  Rome 
The  faith  that  they  persuaded  God  to  kill 
His  Son  to  save  them.     And  a  huckstering 
Will  taint  the  flesh  of  all  who  eat  this  god. 
But  yet  how  they  will  rub  their  palms  and  coo 
And  ape  a  meekness.     Here  !    Aristo,  chop !  .  .  . 

But  just  so  long  as  stones  remain  in  place 
Of  Hadrian's  Villa,  eyes  will  look  upon  them 
And  sense  the  mind  of  Rome,  and  what  it  was: 
That  eyes  were  made  for  seeing,  ears  for  hearing, 
Hands  made  to  touch,  tongues  made  to  taste,  minds  made 
To  think,  imagine,  love  given  to  indulge 
For  rapture.     There's  no  law  of  heaven  or  earth 
That  trims  eyes,  ears,  the  senses, 
Of  use ;  but  all  were  made  to  leaf  and  bloom 
The  idea  of  the  eye,  the  ear,  the  hand. 
And  only  reason  with  regard  for  health 
Of  eyes,  ears,  hands,  may  guide  and  say:  how  far.  .  .  . 
See  now  what  Hadrian's  mind  created  here: — 
A  tragic  theatre,  a  comic  theatre. 

[240] 


CELSUS  AT  HADRIAN'S  VILLA 

What  for?     For  eyes'  sake,  for  exploring  life. 
Katharsis?     Yes.     But  use?     No  use  to  him 
Who  thinks  life  sin,  the  world's  end  near,  for  Jews 
Who  like  the  frogs  in  marshes  croaking,  say: 
"For  our  sakes  was  the  world  created,  we 
Alone  are  chosen  of  God."     No  use  for  him 
Who  sees  enough  of  suffering  in  life 
Without  its  mimicry;  sees  not  the  art 
Of  shooting  light  between  the  mystery 
Of  human  fate,  and  waking  sympathy 
Through  understanding.     Christian  weeds  I  chop, 
Whose  roots  begin  to  sap  the  tragic  roots 
Of  Sophocles. 

But  I  say  eyes  may  see: 
And  if  I  wish  to  watch  the  lions  fight 
What  interdicts  me,  and  what  reason  for  it? 
Now  look  how  Hadrian's  mind  puts  into  flower: 
A  temple  for  Greek  books,  and  one  for  Latin ; 
And  there's  the  stadium,  and  there's  the  baths. 
These  Christians  frown  the  bath.     If  I  make  out 
Jesus  may  come  today,  and  wherefore  wash? 
Besides  the  naked  bathers  cling  and  kiss 
Within  the  tepidarium  at  times,  and  hence 
Out  with  all  bathing! 

There's  the  palace  too 

Which  o'ertops  Nero's  Golden   House,   they  say. 
And  what  guest  chambers  here!     The  laughing  soul 


CELSUS  AT  HADRIAN'S  VILLA 

Of  Hadrian  glows  amid  his  friends.     What's  best 

In  life,  Aristo?     Why,  when  the  soul  is  freed, 

From  business,  traffic,  grasping,  thought  of  self, 

The  aches  of  the  day,  and  being  freed  shines  forth 

As  star  companions  star,  in  smiles  and  words 

Of  praise,  affection.     Hadrian  loves  the  faith 

Of  happiness,  and  lets  his  guests  fare  free, 

Wander  eight  miles  of  garden,  enter  vales 

Of  Tempe,  watch  a  mimic  Peneus 

Flow  by;  encounter  fauns  amid  the  brakes; 

Surprise  Bacchantes  sleeping;  hear  from  hills 

A  chorus  of  Euripides  soothe  their  souls 

With  dreams  before  Faustina's  sculptured  face, 

Or  Antinous,  Apollo,  Venus;  bathe 

Their  glowing  bodies  in  the  pools;  partake 

Of  food  or  wine,  gifts  of  the  gods.     Such  life 

Is  passing,  soon  will  pass.     Aurelius 

Lies  under  thought,  which  thrived  before  the  day 

Of  Paul  for  all  of  that,  the  folly  sees  not 

Of  slaying  Christians,  while  himself  is  teaching 

The  Christian  doctrine!     Ugliness,  denial, 

Self-laceration,  beggary,  are  older 

Than  Jesus — and  I  chop! 

But  let  the  world 

Submit  to  weeds,  in  time  what  will  you  have? 
Not  Hadrian's  Villa,  but  a  villa  walled, 
Walls  spiked  and  guarded,  and  a  house  of  walls 
Empty  of  sculpture,  where  a  miser-man, 
[242] 


CELSUS  AT  HADRIAN'S  VILLA 

Guarding  his  gold,  a  lone  man  eating  bread 

And  milk,  rules  realms  and  countries  from  the  book 

Of  Enoch,  Exodus,  the  Septuagint, 

And  these  purported  writings  of  one  Paul; 

And  who  has  made  his  heart  a  granary 

For  seed  of  faith  and  trade.     This  weed  I  chop ! 

For  then  your  world  lies  flatter  than  the  land 

Of  that  campagna,  made  a  marsh  for  frogs, 

Dull  grass  and  feculent  roots,  as  it  would  lie 

If  once  invaders  smashed  the  aqueducts 

And  drowned  our  lovely  plain ! 

You  see,  my  friend 

Why  I  fight  back  the  weeds.    This  is  not  all, 
For  I  know  what  engenders  Christian  faith: 
Man  dreams  he  can  be  saved,  but  saved  from  what? 
Sin?     What  is  sin?     Age?     What  can  save  from  age, 
What  keep  the  spring  of  youth,  its  rosy  flesh, 
Its  spirit  never  tiring,  hope  undarkened, 
Its  courage  without  fears,  long  dreams  and  days? 
Why  nothing!    All's  illusion  that  holds  forth 
A  medicine  for  wrinkles,  shrunken  arms. 
Therefore  what  saves  from  death?     Does  Jesus  save? 
Does  Jesus  ease  a  soul's  pain,  cure  a  loss 
Save  as  these  devotees  may  soothe  their  hearts 
With  prospects  of  to-morrow,  or  of  heaven? 
No!    good  Aristo,  all  this  Roman  realm, 
Washed  by  this  sea,  for  centuries  has  been 
As  fertile  as  the  valley  of  the  Nile 

[243] 


CELSUS  AT  HADRIAN'S  VILLA 

For  seed  of  this  salvation  dream,  the  seed 

Of  Mithra  and  Osiris,  Krishna,  Budda, 

Adonis,  Tammuz,  Dionysus,  Attis, 

What  is  this  seed  of  Jesus?     Nothing  new: 

The  virgin  birth?     That's  old  as  human  dreams. 

There's  Dionysus  born  of  Semele, 

A  virgin,  and  of  Zeus;  great  Dionysus 

The  resurrection  of  the  year,  the  mad 

Intoxicating  power  of  nature,  wine. 

There  is  a  myth  that  Jesus  at  a  feast 

Turned  water  into  wine,  a  Bacchic  feat. 

One  myth  blends  in  another  like  mosaics 

Of  microscopic  jewels.     I  go  on. 

Zeus  fathers  many  sons  of  virgins  born, 

Is  not  content  with  one.     He  takes  Danae 

And  Perseus  is  the  fruit,  who  slays  the  Gorgons 

And  saves  Andromeda,  the  human  soul. 

Devaki  is  a  virgin,  weds  Vishnu, 

And  Krishna  comes.     A  virgin  is  the  mother 

Of  Budda.     Horus  springs  from  virgin  Isis, 

Our  Lady,  Queen  of  Heaven,  Star  of  the  Sea, 

Mother  of  God,  so  called  for  centuries 

Before  the  days  of  Mary.     Neith,  the  virgin, 

Was  mother  of  Osiris.     Mithra's  born 

Of  a  virgin  mother. 

This  is  what  I  mean 
By  fertile  soil  of  Egypt,  Persia,  Greece, 
That  crops  the  seed  of  Jesus.     Is  this  all? 

[244] 


CELSUS  AT  HADRIAN'S  VILLA 

All  saviours  tally  fully.     All  were  born 
In  caves  or  stables,  chambers  under  ground ; 
All  labored  for  the  welfare  of  the  race; 
All  were  light  bringers,  healers,  mediators 
Between  the  gods  and  men.     All  fell  in  death, 
Descended  to  the  underworld.     All  rose 
To  strive  for  men  in  heaven ;  all  created 
Communions,  churches,  rites  of  water,  wine, 
Last  suppers,  brought  the  entheos,  spilt  their  blood; 
God,  Krishna,  Dionysus,  Hercules. 
And  as  for  that  Tammuz  was  crucified, 
Prometheus  was  nailed  and  chained. 

You  know! 

These  from  the  mysteries  of  the  heart,  from  life  ;- 
Death  of  the  year,  birth  of  the  year,  the  hope 
That  shines  amid  the  mist  of  doubts  and  days; 
The  dream  that  says  if  nature  leave  the  grave 
Of  winter,  what's  the  life  of  man,  to  be 
Shut  from  the  law  that  wakes  the  fallen  seed? 
If  God  renews  the  wine,  I  drink  the  juice 
Of  the  grape  and  live!     If  God  be  in  the  bull, 
And  must  be,  life  is  life,  and  all  is  life 
Of  one  divinity,  I  drink  the  blood, 
I  wash  therein,  cleanse  sin,  and  celebrate 
A  ritual  of  salvation,  endless  life!  .  .  . 
I  trace  all  Krishnas,  Mithras  in  this  god, 
Hope's  latest  dream. 

[245] 


CELSUS  AT  HADRIAN'S  VILLA 

What's  needed  but  a  flame 

That  draws  these  older  flames?     What  but  a  man 
Of  inspiration,  labor,  sacrifice, 
A  poet,  hater  of  the  scurvy  times, 
Killed  for  his  blasting  eyes,  accusing  tongue, 
To  have  your  Christos?     Jesus  lived.     Why  not? 
'Tis  credible;  killed  by  the  Jews,  why  not? 
And  made  a  sacrifice  for  many — doctrine 
World  old  and  wide.     From  Babylon  the  Jews 
Brought  Hammurapi,  brought  Sacaea  too, 
A  ritual  for  prisoners  doomed  to  die, 
By  which  they  would  be  decked  in  kingly  robes, 
Stripped,  scourged  and  hanged  even  as  we  have  done 
At  Saturnalia.     How  else  "King  of  the  Jews," 
Except  by  ancient  custom?     Think,  Aristo, 
Would  great  Tiberius  suffer  such  sedition 
Except  as  drama  and  in  mockery? 
Aristo,  if  this  Jesus  were  the  god 
As  Mithra,  Dionysus  are,  'twere  well 
With  Rome  and  Hadrian's  Villa.     Understand 
If  these  infatuate  zealots,  Jews  would  keep 
Their  god,  belief,  but  still  conform  to  Rome, 
Rome's  gods,  the  empire  reverence,  who  would  care? 
No  Roman  !     No  one !     But  to  hear  these  prophets 
Cry  through  our  cities,  camps:     to  everlasting 
Flames  commit  our  cities  and  our  lands, 
And  curse  us  out  of  Jewish  scriptures,  draw 
The  imprecations  of  the  epileptic 
Paul  upon  us,  this  I  fight,  I  chop! 

[246] 


CELSUS  AT  HADRIAN'S  VILLA 

I  stand  with  sword  against  the  enervation 

Of  private  judgment,  that  the  common  man 

Is  heaven's  prize.     This  demos  mania 

And  ruin  of  the  empire  I  oppose. 

And  when  these  plagues  of  Christians  grow  too  loud, 

And  Rome  arouses,  wants  the  lions  fed, 

Or  crosses  painted  with  a  little  red, 

I  go  to  see.     These  anarch  colleges, 

Illicit  schools,  called  churches,  quiet  down 

When  in  the  circus  Christian  bones  are  crunched.  . 

Now  for  my  consolation  if  Rome  fall; 
If  lowliness  and  other  worldiness; 
If  meekness,  sacrifice;  if  life's  denial; 
If  all  this  creed  out  of  inverted  thought, 
Shame  for  the  lust  of  life,  the  Orient's 
Sick  perfume,  drugs,  if  all  of  this  be  taken 
Into  the  body  of  Rome,  the  world;  the  poison 
Of  Jesus  swallowed — this  my  consolation: 
Life,  being  God,  is  stronger  than  God's  Son; 
Life  will  digest  it,  and  evacuate 
What  cannot  be  digested,  and  retain 
What  can  be  used.     Another  Rome  will  rise 
If  our  Rome  fall.     Let's  go  up  there,  a  while, 
And  watch  the  waterfalls,  and  have  some  wine. 


[247] 


INVOCATION  TO  THE  GODS 


Goddess,  born  of  the  mother  of  all  things,  the  sea, 

Goddess  of  beauty,  goddess  of  rapture, 

Goddess  whose  girdle  is  life, 

Come  down  to  us,  O  Aphrodite. 

We  are  sunk  in  the  slough  of  our  shame; 

We,  are  torn  with  denials  and  fears, 

Who  have  turned  from  thy  altar, 

And  rejected  thy  worship 

And  mangled  the  gift  of  love 

For  the  ritual  of  Mary  the  Virgin. 

Come  down  to  us  that  we  may  re-make  ourselves 

In  the  likeness  of  thy  face — 

We  have  no  goddess  like  thee 

O  Aphrodite! 

II 

And  thou,  equal  sister,  O  goddess 

Whose  temple  yet  stands  enthroned  rock-bound  above 

The  grotto  of  Mary  of  Galilee, 

Eternal  symbol! 

Come  down  to  us: 

[248] 


INVOCATION  TO  THE  GODS 

Preserver  of  the  state 

In  peace  and  war, 

With  the  healing  of  harmonious  thought. 

Stern  goddess  of  an  equal  law, 

And  ruler  of  the  mind. 

Guardian  of  temples  and  republics. 

Lover  and  inspirer  of  the  arts, 

Come  down  to  us  that  we  may  re-make  ourselves 

In  the  likeness  of  thy  face. 

We  have  no  goddess  like  thee 

Pallas  Athena! 

Ill 

Thou  soul  of  the  Sun 

And  master  of  fire, 

Law-giver,  ruler,  warder, 

Founder  of  templed  cities, 

Founder  of  states  invincible  and  free; 

Thou  voice  of  prophecy,  wisest  friend 

Of  commonwealths; 

Lord  of  music,  lord  of  words  and  sounds, 

And  brother  of  the  muses. 

Come  down  that  we  may  re-make  ourselves 

In  the  likeness  of  thy  face, 

We  have  no  god  like  thee 

O  great  Apollo! 

IV 

Of  old  amid  the  mountains  sat  the  father 
Of  gods  and  men ! 

[249] 


INVOCATION  TO  THE  GODS 

Broad  souled  as  nature,  being  nature. 

Human  and  gracious,  laughing,  wise  as  time. 

Ruler  of  earth  and  heaven — all  but  fate; 

And  promising  no  life  that  was  not  fate; 

No  wonder  and  no  change 

Beyond  the  rule  of  fate. 

Great  Zeus  whose  fruitful  loins 

Peopled  Olympus 

With  gods  and  goddesses,  well  beloved. 

Not  father  of  one  son,  but  many  sons  ; 

Not  father  of  one  daughter,  but  many  daughters, 

Begotten  of  thee,  immaculately, 

Being  begotten  in  nature. 

Great  father  of  redeemers  who  redeemed 

Through  truth  which  frees  through  being  known, 

Not  faith  in  truth  which  is  not  known. 

Beauty  and  not  belief, 

Mystical  waters,  curses,  flames  and  death  ! 

Come  down,  O  Father  Zeus,  while  we  re-make 

Our  faces  in  the  likeness  of  thy  face. 

We  have  no  god  like  thee 

O  sovran  Zeus! 

V 

Thou  Thunderer,  whose  mood  was  wine  and  love, 
Miraculous  life,  creativeness 
Of  color  and  sound, 
Out  of  the  lightning,  out  of  the  mist, 
Out  of  the  beat  and  urge  of  the  sea, 
[250] 


INVOCATION  TO  THE  GODS 

Out  of  mountains,  sacred  groves  and  streams. 

Thou  king  and  father  of  the  virgin  daughter 

Templed  in  pure,  in^  deathless  stone 

In  sacred  Athens. 

Not  always  striking  at  the  foes  of  Hellas; 

Nor  sending  fury  on  her  enemies; 

Nor  bathing  swords  in  heaven 

To  smite  the  foes  of  Hellas; 

Nor  treading  grapes  in  anger; 

Nor  sprinkling  blood  on  garments 

To  make  all  peoples  worship  thee,  O  Zeus! 

Nor  breeding  worms  that  die  not, 

To  make  all  peoples  worship  thee,  O  Zeus! 

Nor  stirring  envy  like  a  man  of  war 

To  make  all  peoples  worship  thee,  O  Zeus! 

Nor  preaching  words  of  gladness  to  the  meek; 

Nor  opening  prison  doors 

To  sound  the  day  of  vengeance, 

To  make  all  peoples  worship  thee,  O  Zeus! 

Nor  saying,  eat  the  riches  of  thy  foes, 

And  suck  their  milk; 

And  make  them  plowmen; 

And  take  dominion  over  them  and  power. 

I  am  the  one,  the  only  god,  go  forth 

And  make  all  peoples  worship,  I  am  Zeus! 

VI 

The  hunted  ghost  of  Delphos  steals 
From  land  to  land. 


INVOCATION  TO  THE  GODS 

Thy  lyre  has  been  weighed  in  the  balances 

Of  the  money  changers,  and  rejected. 

The  Prince  of  Peace  has  brought  the  sword 

Even  as  he  prophesied. 

All  peoples  are  at  strife 

Between  his  ritual  and  the  will  to  life. 

Vengeance,  hypocrisy  and  darkness 

Are  over  us,  we  are  vipers 

Coiled  in  a  cistern. 

We  wait  for  blood  in  the  moon, 

For  darkness  in  the  Sun, 

For  a  voice  from  clouds  of  glory: 

Depart  from  me,  accursed ;  into  fire. 

I  shut  the  gates  of  heaven 

And  burn  the  world  with  wrath ! 

Thou  in  Olympus  tombed 

With  all  thy  sons  and  daughters, 

Palace  no  more,  a  footstool 

For  Jehovah  of  Judea, 

Come  back  that  we  may  re-make  ourselves 

In  the  likeness  of  thy  face. 

O,  father  Zeus, 

Wake  when  Jesus  shuts 

The  gates  of  heaven, 

And  take  us  to  Olympus! 


[2521 


PENTHEUS  IN  THESE  STATES 

I 

Muse  of  the  meditative  hymn,  and  Muse 
Of  chronicles  and  the  scroll,  to  us  refuse 
No  gift  to  sing  the  daimon,  the  divine 
God-head  of  Nature,  Freedom  and  the  Vine. 
Nor  less  that  Orpheus  of  the  Mysteries: 
Stars  and  the  Soul  and  Heaven,  and  the  Seas 
Of  tangible  streams  made  light  above  the  dust 
Of  this  bewildering  earth  of  Flesh  and  Lust. 

II 

First  from  what  Thracian  land 

Did  your  attendants  come 

In  coon-skin  caps  and  jeans, 

Into  this  wilderness,  spanned 

By  mountains,  to  this  home 

Of  the  Corn-mother,  clothed  in  variable  greens 

Of  barley,  oats  and  wheat? 

Hither  hurried  your  adventurous  feet 

From  England,  and  from  the  hills 

Above  the  Rhine,  and  out  of  the  valleys 

Of  the  populous  plain 

[253] 


PENTHEUS  IN  THESE  STATES 

Of  Lombardy,  around  the  Seine, 

You  came 

Like  flame  that  follows  flame! 

From  Galway,   Lyons,   Bergen,   Budapest, 

Onward  you  pressed, 

With  hearts  that  sang,  and  brave, 

Like  wave  that  runs  to  wave! 

And  from  all  northlands  of  new  dreams,  from  ills 

That  stir  the  Spring  awakening  and  the  quest. 

Thence  were  these  swarming  sallies 

Into  New  England,  and  the  great  Northwest — 

Virginia  and  Kentucky,  Tennessee. 

Thracians  you  were,  attending  Dionyse, 

And  seeking  realms  of  Nature  to  be  free. 

Ciders  from  orchards  would  have  ease, 

And  wine  from  vineyards,  to  be  planted, 

Where  the  roar  of  mountain  torrents  haunted 

Heights  of  the  pine  and  slopes  of  fragrant  grasses 

From  plains  to  granite  passes. 

Rocks  sealed  with  frost  and  ice  which  prisoned 

The  secret  wine  of  Life  new  sensed  and  newly  visioned 

Flowed  when  the  Spring  of  a  great  Age,  and  its  Herakles, 

Fire  of  the  Sun  of  Liberty,  melted  the  locks 

Of  ancient  and  forbidding  rocks 

Binding  the  torrent:  human  and  divine 

Strength  and  adventure:    Maenads  and  Thyiades, 

Bacchic,  Bassarides: 

Spirits  and  evangels  of  new  wine. 

Mad  Ones :  armed  for  war. 

[254] 


PENTHEUS  IN  THESE  STATES 

And  Rushing  Ones:  defying  Strife. 
Inspired  Ones:  trailing  the  Star 
Of  larger  life. 

Ill 

And  with  this  swift  descent, 

To  this  far  Occident, 
Tracking  the  gleam,  the  god,  the  freer  fields; 

Rejoicing,  but  in  rites 

For  the  Mystery,  the  delights 

Of  living  and  of  thought,  which  moulds  and  wields, 
These  hunters,  fur-capped,  like  the  devotees 
Out  of  the  Thrace  of  old,  worshipping  and  defending 
The  wine-grower,  and  temple-builder,  Dionyse, 
Carved  from  the  fire  impregnate  Earth  the  sovereignties 
Of  Maryland,  New  York,  and  Tennessee's 
Mountainous  realm,  to  the  blending 
Of  foothills  with  the  meadows  of  Illinois. 
And  made  initiate  in  great  liberties 
The  farthest  West,  until  the  Orient  sea's 
Soft  thunder  lustrates  California,  bending 
Above  green  water,  clothed  in  purple  and  gold. 
Carved  these  with  hope  their  children  would  uphold, 
And  no  hand  would  destroy 

The  altars  of  States  heaped  full  of  grapes  and  grain : 
Births  of  the  Sun  and  earth,  to  be  adored, 
And  gathered  in  high  festival  and  joy 
From  mountain  side  and  plain ; 
And  drunk  from  golden  kantharoi, 

[355] 


PENTHEUS  IN  THESE  STATES 

God  entering  into  man,  thereby:  restored 

By  the  blood  and  flesh  of  the  god,  the  lord, 

To  strength  and  vision  to  unveil 

Deep  mysteries  and  raptures,  worshippings 

Of  nature,  love  for  man,  for  deities 

Quick  intimations,  quiverings  through  the  wings 

Of  larger  life,  and  sweeter  music,  cities 

Of  higher  fellowships  and  lovelier  ways 

Of  wisdom,   where   the  phantoms  of  the   Pities, 

And  the  Hatreds,  the  Agonies 

Of  Melancholy,  Madness,  Soul's  Disease 

From  horrors,  and  from  idiot  pieties 

Are  softened  or  dispelled  in  Freedom's  praise. 

IV 

Pentheus  in  the  tree-top  spies  upon 
The  wild  white  women,  the  dance,  the  festival. 
And  Judas  spies  on  Jesus 
In  the  epiphany  of  Orpheus  out  of  Dionysus. 
But  the  cup  is  drunk  by  the  lover,  the  singer  John. 
Who  finding  the  ecstasy  of  sorrow,  and  sounding  the  deeps 
Of  love  and  vision,  human  and  mystical 
In  the  wine  cup,  oh,  beloved  guest, 
Sinks  in  a  moment  of  ineffable  rest, 
And  rid  of  the  flesh,  half  sleeps 
Upon  the  Master's  breast. 
Judas  alert  for  treasure  and  for  treason 
Dips  in  the  sop  his  bread- 
Judas  the  founder  of  the  sect  which  fouls 

[256] 


PENTHEUS  IN  THESE  STATES 

The  feast  of  Life,  lizards  and  owls. 

But  where  the  liknon  is  borne,  the  cradle  heaped 

With  fruits  and  flowers  at  the  bridal  feast, 

O,  Dionysiac  Christ,  you  passed  the  cup; 

And  at  the  supper  of  parting,  O  lovely  priest, 

At  the  time  of  the  fan,  and  the  purging  of  the  floor, 

You  served  the  blood  qf  the  grape,  and  you  did  sup 

With  fur-capped  fellows,  and  revealed  the  lore 

Of  remembrance  for  the  mysteries  you  had  spoken 

Over  the  purple  hills,  and  by  the  yellow  shore 

In  wine  quaffed  and  bread  broken. 


Thin  lips  where  cruel  smiles  betray 

Envy  and  frigid  spirits,  souls  of  gray 

Who  will  descend  upon  you,  rend  and  slay? 

Unknowers  of  the  cycle  of  Man's  day: 

That  nourished  flesh  grows  spirit,  and  that  wine 

Is  the  oil  of  the  lamp  of  the  soul,  and  feeds  the  flame 

That  lights  the  world  with  Art!     Who  will  waylay 

Your  spying  and  your  hatred,  limb  from  limb 

Tear  you,  or  drive  you  to  a  death  of  shame, 

Like  Judas  self-hung?     As  if  in  paradigm, 

Purple  but  horrible!     Cut-throats  of  the  rites 

Of  amity  and  dreams,  the  blossoming, 

The  release  from  the  flesh  to  soul's  delights, 

Intenser  life  in  soft  intoxication — 

And  from  that  life,  and  rapturous  elation 

Who  are  you  who  restrain, 

[257] 


PENTHEUS  IN  THESE  STATES 

Making  a  cult  of  undelivered  pain? — 
Through  which  men  love  and  fashion,  sing. 
You  false  Salvationists  and  street  haranguers, 
Self-drunk  with  soul  suppression  and  perversion, 
Who  shout  the  terror  of  putrescence,  never  beauty; 
You  with  suspicions  of  the  peasant  Persian; 
You  foul-breathed  ranters  of  Duty 
About  these  states,  you  vermin-eaten  clangers 
Of  hog-ribs,  paper  tambourines: — 
Degenerate  instruments  for  an  imbecile  faith, 
And  mockeries  of  bright  silver  (touched  by  queens, 
The  Muses),  and  the  ebony  crotola. 
You  scare-crows  of  the  Maenads  and  the  Muses, 
Breastless  or  babeless  women  who  would  vote 
For  rulership  of  other  homes,  not  yours. 
And  you  who  moralize  and  gloat 
On  the  refuse  of  banquets  in  the  sewers. 
You  preachers  of  Denial  and  of  Death, 
And  maniacs  of  repression  which  refuses 
The  cup  of  life !     And  in  this  bacchanalia, 
You  followers  of  Orpheus,  as  reformer, 
Plain  dressed  in  alpaca  and  string  ties, 
Who  bellow  forth  your  prophecies  and  curses 
Not  that  man  lives,  but  that  man  dies. 
You  carriers  of  umbrellas,  not  the  thyrsos, 
Or  rifles  of  the  fur-capped  pioneers; 
Slick  spouters  who  fill  fat  penurious  purses 
Out  of  inevitable  tears. 

You  Judases  to  Beauty,  the  sneak,  informer, 

[258] 


PENTHEUS  IN  THESE  STATES 

Blind  that  all  Canas  must  precede 

The  soul's  Gethsemanes,  that  there  can  be 

Save  Cana  strengthens,  no  Gethsemane; 

And  if  no  living  then  no  heart  to  bleed 

Its  blood  to  make  us  like  the  god,  the  Christ. 

No  flower  of  spirit  without  root  and  vine, 

Nor  loveliness  for  our  sakes  sacrificed ; 

No  beauty  without  wine — 

You  who  these  mysteries  see  not,  or  gainsay 

Who  will  tear  limb  from  limb  of  you  and  slay? 

VI 

You  who  behold  no  spirit  in  earth  and  sun, 

And  in  their  marriage  no  symbol  of  increase; 

And  you  who  plan  or  plot  or  brood,  but  run 

About  the  wine  press  never,  and  who  shun 

The  kinship  which  makes  one  of  beasts  and  man, 

Blossoms  and  vines  and  trees. 

You  who  see  not  the  mystery  of  food, 

The  ecstasy  of  the  feast,  replenishment 

Of  spirit  in  the  wine-cup,  and  who  ban 

In  fear  or  loathing,  swooning  of  the  blood; 

You  who  can  take  as  memory's  sacrament 

The  wafer  and  the  thimble  of  vapid  juice, 

And  yet  deny  us,  seekers  of  elation, 

Re-birth  through  Dionysus,  the  youthful  Christ: 

Living,  rejoicing  in  Life's  thrilling  spring, 

Not  grieving  in  its  autumn  and  decline, 

Bridal,  not  funeral  wine 

[259] 


PENTHEUS  IN  THESE  STATES 

In  the  hour  of  memory  and  of  parting; 
You  who  forbid  our  ritual  and  our  use 
Of  Nature's  secrets,  our  illumination, 

Our  sleep,  our  peace, 
Our  freedom  from  the  Fears,  intoxication 

In  which  our  souls  are  paradised; 
Our  insight,  charities,  and  our  release 

From  the  grave  of  the  day's  flesh,  our  Orphic  lips 
Through  which  we  find  creations,  sun-lit  wings, 
Love,  wanderings  of  the  soul,  and  fellowships — 
You  who  these  wisdoms  see  not,  or  gainsay 
Who  will  tear  limb  from  limb  of  you,  and  slay? 

Will  the  old  States  never  come  to  us,  never  again, 

And  the  sovereignty  of  men, 
In   the   mountains  of   our   fathers,   along   the   boundless 

plain? 
Has  the  will  of  the  people  perished,  or  passed  into  the 

hand 
Of  the  oafs  and  boors  and  lunk-heads  of  the  land, 

And  the  bigot,  Puritan, 
And  the  martyrs  to  the  martyrdom  of  Pain, 
Seeking  remembrance  not  for  Life,  but  Death  ? 
Have  we  given  up  the  sister  realms,  the  freedom  of  the 

States 

Through  a  tyranny  of  shame 

In  the  South  land  where  the  black-man  wears  the  gag? 
Shall  we  bear  the  blight  of  cities,  charged  to  electorates 
In  the  silence  of  the  bearers  of  the  flag? 

[260] 


PENTHEUS  IN  THESE  STATES 

Shall  the  cowardice  of  sycophants  commissioned  to  obey 
Defeat  the  trust,  but  call  it  still  our  voice? 

Shall  we  who  give  you,  as  we  wish,  the  choice 
Of  freedom  to  be  solemn  or  rejoice, 

Avenpe  not  your  injustice,  nor  gainsay. 

Nor  strew  you  limb  from  limb  along  the  way? 


COMPARATIVE  CRIMINALS 

Marion  Strode,  my  friend,  a  chanting  voice 
For  heaven's  kingdom  on  this  earth,  a  hand 
Ready  to  open  prisons,  heal  the  bruised, 
Bring  liberty  to  men,  was  wrought  to  fire 
Over  the  martyrdom  of  Ott.     He  called  it 
A  martyrdom,  and  said :     "Come  go  with  me 
And  comfort  Ott  in  prison."     So  he  went. 

And  on  the  train  I  read  what  Ott  had  said, 

For  which  he  suffered  prison.    Jail  for  words 

Is  older  than  Saint  Paul;  as  old  as  cities, 

And  fear  that  dreads  the  change  that  words  may  bring. 

I  also  saw  a  picture  of  this  Ott : 

Head  like  a  billiard  ball,  a  little  cracked, 

Warped  egg-like  too.    A  homeless  cat  made  furtive 

By  missive  cans  and  frightful  hoots.     A  ragged 

Gabriel  shut  from  heaven's  bliss.     A  porter 

Of  righteousness  compelled  to  open  the  gate 

Of  paradise  for  Mark  Hanna,  but  himself 

Debarred  an  entrance.    Asking  nothing  either, 

Yet  facing  God  to  sift  him,  find  him  pure 

As  those  who  enter. 

[262] 


COMPARATIVE  CRIMINALS 

Here's  a  man  who  never 
To  eighty  years  loses  from  brightening  eyes 
Flames  from  the  stake  reflected,  or  the  shadows 
Of  prison  for  the  sake  of  conscience.    Thinks 
No  one  who  has  soft  raiment  ever  reads 
"The  Ancient  Lowly,"  or  the  "Martyrdom 
Of  Labor,"  history,  science;  none  are  wise 
But  radicals. 

And  then  I   read  in  full 

What  Ott  had  said  for  which  they  prisoned  him. 
They  charged  him  with  obstructing  the  enlistment. 
Hut  in  his  speech  there  isn't  a  single  word 
Advising  a  resistance  to  the  draft, 
By  just  so  many  words  concretely.     Quite 
Adroit  this  speech,  quite  foxy.    Yet  it's  true 
If  you  knew  you  could  get  a  man  to  act 
On  what  was  in  his  mind,  long  brooded  on 
By  giving  him  a  shot  of  alcohol; 
And  if  you  gave  it  and  he  did  the  deed 
You  would  be  an  inciter,  principal 
And  doer  of  the  deed. 

Now  take  this  speech 
Which  glorifies  the  socialistic  cause; 
Lauds  divers  martyrs  tried,  already  jailed 
For  words  against  the  draft ;  denounces  Prussia, 
Oh,  yes!  but  in  such  words  as  hit  the  home 
Of  the  brave,  the  free  America!    Ouch!    Quit! 

[263] 


COMPARATIVE  CRIMINALS 

Says  that  the  master  class  has  always  made 
The  wars  in  which  the  subject  class  was  used, 
Which  never  had  a  voice  in  making  war : 
Affirmative  universal!     What's  the  answer? 
He  means  this  war,  this  holy  war,  the  traitor ! 
Denounces  capital,  exhorts  the  crowd 
To  strive  for  something  better  than  to  be 
Fodder  for  cannon.    What?    The  prize  of  death 
In  battle  called  a  foddering  of  the  cannon ! 
What  better  thing  to  strive  for?    Throw  him  out! 
The  price  of  coal  is  due  to  plutocrats; 
They're  bleeding  you,  and  say  it's  for  the  war. 
They  lie !    What's  treason  ?    Not  disloyal 
To  those  you  work  for,  but  disloyalty 
To  truth,  your  better  self. 

If  you  believe  this 

Would  you  become  a  soldier,  or  say  no, 
I  will  not  fight  for  such  a  cause  or  country?  .  .  . 
I  see,  said  Voltaire,  three  times  one  are  one. 
A  man  in  heat  might  flout  the  trinity; 
But  when  he  studies  out  some  persiflage 
With  which  to  flout  it — well — here's  Ott  who  has 
Contempt  aforethought  for  the  war  and  draft, 
And  squirts  his  venom  through  closed  teeth,  the  better 
To  shoot  it  further,  make  it  hit. 

I  said: 

"Your  Mr.  Ott  is  guilty  of  the  charge. 
No  use  to  talk  of  constitutions.     No. 

[264] 


COMPARATIVE  CRIMINALS 

He  loves  the  Lovejoys,  Garrisons  and  Paines, 

The  Brunos,  martyrs,  let  him  stand  his  ground." 

And  Marion  Strode  replied:  "Yes,  Ott  is  guilty. 

But  did  he  speak  the  truth?    Yes?    Very  well. 

It  must  have  been  the  time  and  place  that  made 

The  penitentiary  for  twenty  years 

A  fitting  penalty.     But  when's  the  time 

To  talk  against  war's  horror?    When  there's  war, 

And  words  are  vivid,  or  when  war  is  not, 

And  talks  against  it  sound  like  when  you  say 

'Look  out  for  bears'  to  children? 

"War-lords  talk 

In  peace  and  war  to  be  prepared.    May  I 
Prepare  for  peace  in  war  time,  when  my  words 
Have  demonstrations  in  the  events  of  war? 
You  think  not?    The  majority  has  spoken! 
Well,  has  it  ?    Point  me  out  a  plebiscite 
That  asked  for  war.     But  take  your  point  at  full 
The  majority  has  spoken:  why  forbid 
The  back-hall,  soap-box  rostrum;  what  will  come? 
The  majority  will  stick  and  go  ahead ; 
Or  else  the  soap  box  will  persuade  it  back 
And  end  the  war.     Is  there  another  term? 
The  great  majority  annoyed,  obstructed, 
Delayed,  distracted,  harried!     Well,  you  know 
The  Tories  did  that  to  George  Washington. 
And  Lincoln!    Why,  the  people  at  the  polls 
Returned  a  critical  congress.    And  if  trials 

[265] 


COMPARATIVE  CRIMINALS 

Strengthen  the  character  of  a  man,  why  not 
Obstructions  for  majorities  howling  war 
To  clarify  and  strengthen  them  ?    God  works 
In  ways  mysterious,  but  in  every  way; 
Whatever  is  is  true. 

"Ott,  as  I  see  it, 

Was  jailed  for  twenty  years  for  speaking  truth 
At  the  wrong  time  and  place.    A  heavy  fine 
For  wrong  aesthetics,  etiquette. 

"I  go  deeper, 

I  pass  the  law  that  jailed  him,  all  aesthetics, 
All  etiquette,  all  wrong  of  time  and  place. 
Let's  enter  in  a  realm  of  realer  things. 
What  does  Ott  stand  for  in  a  war  or  peace? 
Is  it  not  freedom,  equal  rights,  the  end 
Of  poverty,  disease?     Has  he  not  held 
The  torch  of  science  up,  the  torch  of  thought 
Interpreting  the  greatest  minds  to  win 
Attention  to  them  and  adherence  to  them  ? 
If  he  did  this,  has  not  his  life  been  given 
To  making  America  a  brighter  light, 
A  sounder  realm,  her  breed  a  stronger  breed? 
If  he  be  not  a  light  himself,  but  only 
A  humble  trimmer  of  the  wick,  let's  say 
The  wick  of  Socrates,  or  Franklin,  Paine, 
Or  Jesus  as  the  prophet  in  the  work 


COMPARATIVE  CRIMINALS 

Of  freeing  for  the  truth,  then  what  of  that? 
Who  gets  the  judgment  in  the  years  to  come, 
A  parlor  lamp  of  yellow  flame,  that  smells 
Of  coal  oil,  or  your  Ott  ? 

"Let's  take  a  type: 

He  woos  the  average  man,  appeals  to  him ; 
The  average  man  whose  morals,  art  and  books 
Are  just  victrola  records,  microscopic 
Echoes  of  small  realities  of  the  past. 
He  sees  what  he  can  do  with  this  America 
Of  the  average  man,  the  common  people  called. 
He  follows  them  and  gives  them  vapid  stuff 
Of  morals,  laws  and  politics.     His  aim? 
Talk  which  will  win  the  very  largest  nod 
Of  ignorant  assent.    Result  ?    Why  look, 
He  is  a  daily  of  a  million  sale, 
He  coins  the  money  lecturing,  uses  too 
His  following  to  keep  America 
Upon  the  level  of  the  common  man 
In  morals,  freedom,  thought,  virility. 
He  scoffs  at  science  and  the  noodles  giggle. 
Music?    Why,  who's  Beethoven?    Let  me  hear 
'Lead  Kindly  Light.1    The  drama?    Well.  Ben  Hur 
Is  moral  and  historical.     Sculpture?    Look 
At  those  bronze  figures  by  the  mantel  clock— 
That's  Faith  and  Hope.     Freedom  of  speech  and  press? 
Within  the  limits  of  the  law  !    And  war? 

[267] 


COMPARATIVE  CRIMINALS 

I  loathe  it,  I  opposed  it,  but  when  war 

Is  by  the  law  decreed,  I  enter  too 

And  howl  for  what  I  hissed,  for  what  I  called 

An  evil  and  a  wrong. 

"Now  hear  me  out: 
Suppose  he  could  persuade  America 
To  take  his  books,  and  music,  sculpture,  ethics — 
That  is  his  purpose,  to  persuade  us  all 
To  take  them,  as  it  was  the  aim  of  Ott 
To  stay  enlistment  and  so  stop  the  war — 
What  of  our  civilization?     It  would  fall. 
If  so  who  should  be  jailed,  this  orator 
Or  Ott? 

"Now  we've  arrived,  can  test  these  souls. 
Ott  fights  the  war  and  sticks,  your  orator 
Opposes  the  war  and  quotes  the  Nazarene. 
But  does  he  stick?    Why  no!    The  truth  remains. 
He  changes,  lifts  his  nose  for  noting  when 
The  noses  of  the  majority  are  lifted. 
Our  Mr.  Ott  winters  behind  the  bars. 
Our  orator  retires  to  Florida; 
Emerges  slick  and  strong  when  April  comes 
To  lecture,  get  the  money. 

"Now  suppose 

Ott  by  his  talk  had  balked  the  war,  that  crime 
Is  nothing  by  the  side  of  the  other  crime 
Of  keeping  common  followers  commoner; 

[268] 


COMPARATIVE  CRIMINALS 

Corrupting  thought.    The  war  is  over  now. 
With  Ott  in  prison  and  the  orator  out. 
Let's  test  them  on  the  whole,  and  wholly  freed 
From  war  tests;  Ott's  a  trimmer  of  great  wicks; 
Your  orator  a  parlor  lamp  that  smells 
Of  coal  oil.    And  the  larger  truth  would  open 
The  prison  doors  for  Ott,  and  push  the  orator 
Behind  the  doors  and  lock  them." 

Marion  Strode 

Went  on  till  we  arrived.    And  there  was  Ott 
Serene  and  smiling  in  his  prison  clothes. 

"We  mean 

To  get  a  pardon  for  you,"  Marion  Strode 
Spoke  out  at  once,  "and  give  this  prison  cell 
To  a  certain  orator  of  the  commonplace." 
Ott  laughed   and  said,   "What   for?     You'd  break  his 

puerile 

And  shifty  heart.    This  is  a  place  for  men 
Who  stand  their  ground.    I  may  not  have  much  brains, 
But  what  I  have  I  use  as  Socrates 
Devoted  his.     I  want  to  share  the  greatness 
Of  the  great  with  what  brains  I  possess.    I  like 
This  cell  because  it  helps  me  do  this." 

Then 
We  shook  the  hand  of  Ott  and  turned  away! 


[269] 


THE  GREAT  RACE  PASSES 

They  were  the  fair-haired  Achaeans, 

Who  won  the  Trojan  war; 

They  were  the  Vikings  who  sailed  to  Iceland 

And  America. 

They  became  the  bone  of  England, 

And  the  fire  of  Normandy, 

And  the  will  of  Holland  and  Germany, 

And  the  builders  of  America. 

Their  blood  flowed  into  the  veins  of  David, 

And  the  veins  of  Jesus, 

Homer  and  /Eschylos, 

Dante  and  Michael  Angelo, 

Alexander  and  Caesar, 

William  of  Orange  and  Washington. 

They  sang  the  songs, 

They  won  the  wars. 

They  were  chosen  for  might  in  battle; 

For  blue  eyes  and  white  flesh, 

For  clean  blood,  for  strength,  for  class. 

They  went  to  the  wars 

And  left  the  little  breeds 

To  stay  with  the  women, 

Trading  and  plowing. 

[270] 


THE  GREAT  RACE  PASSES 

They  perished  in  battle 
All  the  way  along  the  stretch  of  centuries, 
And  left  the  little  breeds  to  possess  the  earth — 
The  Great  Race  is  passing. 

They  went  forth  to  free  peoples, 

White  and  black. 

They  fought  for  their  own  freedom, 

And  perished. 

They  founded  America, 

And  perished— 

The  Great  Race  is  passing. 

On  State  street  throngs  crowd  and  push, 
Wriggle  and  writhe  like  maggots. 
Their  noses  are  flat, 
Their  faces  are  broad, 
Their  heads  are  like  gourds, 
Their  eyes  are  dull, 
Their  mouths  are  open — 
The  Great  Race  is  passing. 

The  meek  shall  inherit  the  earth: 

Crackers  and  negroes  in  the  South, 

Methodists  and  prohibitionists, 

Mongrels  and  pigmies 

Possess  the  land. 

A  president  sits  in  a  wheel  chair 

Sick  from  the  fumes  of  his  own  idle  dreams — 

The  Great  Race  is  passing. 

[271] 


DEMOS  THE  DESPOT 

Not  in  the  circus  before  youi;  thumbs  inverted, 

Demos,  the  despot,  do  we  stand ; 

But  amid  the  swarming  half-born  girted, 

And  amid  the  idiot  millions  who  command 

Have  we  our  freedom  re-asserted — 

Rule  us  you  cannot,  though  you  rule  the  land. 

Frederick  and  Charles  and  Philip  the  misbegotten 
Destroyed  the  body  with  fagots  and  with  fetters, 
Until  the  finger  magic  of  movable  letters 
Choked  them  out  of  a  world  that  they  made  rotten 
With  blood  and  corpses.     But,  O  Demos,  you 
Plague  us  with  dwarfs  that  trip  us,  run  and  hide; 
Foul  us  with  frogs  that  froth  ouj  ancient  wine; 
Scourge  us  with  locusts,  and  with  snakes  that  twine, 
And  hiss  but  do  not  kill.    With  lice  subdue 
Our  patience,  and  our  time  divide 
In  seeking  the  favored  hour.    And  then  you  say: 
Have  you  not  freedom,  pray? 
Do  you  not  think  and  print?    You  do  not  bleed 
For  freedom's  sake!    You  do  not  die  at  once. 
And  if  you  starve,  have  you  not  had  your  way? 
We  let  you  print,  but  do  we  have  to  read? 
[272] 


DEMOS  THE  DESPOT 

Or  suffer  what  you  print  to  be  displayed  ? 

What  you  rail  liberty  affronts 

Our  white-frog  breasts,  the  laws  we  made. 

All  rightful  rights  remain. 

Neglect  and  want  shall  be  your  ball  and  chain 

If  you  trespass  our  rules — 

In  other  times  you  would  be  burned  or  slain ! 

Such  being  the  freedom  that  you  grant,  O  Demos, 
Our  olden.task  is  this:  we  fire  the  rushes 
Of  yesteryear,  and  beat  with  sticks  of  truth 
The  little  snakes  and  dwarfs  that  hide  in  bushes; 
Drain  the  dead  water,  set  exhilarant  youth 
With  ploughs  upon  the  musty  marsh  to  turn 
The  scum  and  green  decay,  and  chase  the  frogs. 

Then  after  we  cut  and  drain  and  burn 
All  will  be  sweet  and  clean  awhile. 
But  soon  the  weeds  and  crawlers  will  defile 
Our  labor.    Then  the  demagogues 
Will  lead  the  chorus  of  the  frogs: 
This  is  the  land,  this  is  the  field 
This  is  the  age  of  freedom,  long  revealed. 
This  is  the  age  most  blest, 
This  is  the  country  freest,  1 
This  is  the  country  that  fulfills 
Ancient  hope  and  prophecy, 
This  is  the  age,  this  is  the  land, 
The  land,  the  age,  the  realm  most  free.  .  .  . 

[273] 


DEMOS  THE  DESPOT 

Then  in  that  hour  we  shall  be  dancing, 

And  feasting  with  new  gods  upon  the  hills; 

And  graving  images  of  lovelier  Beauty; 

And  building  altars  of  a  purer  Duty; 

And  singing  rituals  of  a  deeper  Faith. 

And  living  life,  and  facing  death 

As  fairer  gods  would  have  us.    And  for  you 

O  frogs,  the  fated  sharers 

Of  all  wre  dream  and  do, 

We  the  dreamers,  the  preparers, 

Shall  then  be  gathering  strength  to  burn 

Bushes  and  plow  again 

The  frog  marsh  and  the  weedy  plain ! 


[274] 


A  REPUBLIC 

Her  faith  abandoned  and  her  place  despised, 

Her  mission  lost  through  ridicule,  hooted  forth 

From  the  forum  she  erected,  by  cat  calls, 

And  tory  sneers  and  schemes.     Her  basic  law 

Scoffed  out  of  court,  amended  at  the  need 

Of  stomachology  by  the  judges,  or 

A  majority  of  States,  as  it  is  said — 

Rather  by  drunks  and  grafters,  for  the  time 

The  spokesmen  of  the  States,  coerced  and  scared 

By  Methodists  with  a  fund  to  hire  spies, 

And  unearth  women  scrapes,  or  other  sins 

With  which  to  say:  "Vote  dry,  or  be  exposed." 

A  marsh  Atlantic  drifting,  towed  at  last 

By  pirates  into  harbor,  made  a  pasture 

For  alien  hatreds,  greeds.    A  shackled  press, 

And  voices  gagged,  creative  spirits  frozen, 

Obtunded  by  disgust  or  fear.     War  only, 

Armies  and  navies  speak  the  national  mind, 

And  make  it  move  as  a  man ;  for  other  things 

Resistance,  thought  divided,  ostracism, 

Or  jail  for  their  protagonists.     At  the  mast 

The  cross  above  the  crosxhones.  in  between 

The  starr)r  banner.    A  people  hatched  like  chickens: 

[275] 


A  REPUBLIC 

Of  feeble  spirit  for  much  intercrossing, 
Without  vision  and  without  will,  incapable 
Of  lusty  revolution  whatever  right 
Is  spit  upon  or  taken.    A  wriggling  mass 
Bemused  and  babbling,  trampling  private  right 
As  a  tyrant  tramples  it,  calling  it  law 
Because  it  speaks  the  majority  of  the  mob. 
A  land  that  breeds  the  reformer,  the  infuriate 
Will  in  the  shallow  mind,  the  plague  of  frogs 
That  hop  into  our  rooms  at  Pharaoh's  will, 
And  soil  our  banquet  dishes,  hour  of  joy. 
A  giantess  growing  huger,  duller  of  mind, 
Her  gland  "utuitary  being  lost. 


[276] 


THE  INN 

Low  windows  in  the  room 

That  tunnel  the  darkness  with  light! 

The  tick  of  a  clock  in  tin-  fog  that  hovers 

From  the  cave  and  slide  of  the  darkness 

Into  the  tunnels  of  light. 

A  cannon  stove,  a  dog  at  my  feet ; 

Cheap  magazines  on  a  table, 

Dead  flies,  an  atl 

A  register  for  guests, 

And  stillness !     Not  a  voice,  a  step — 

(  >nly  the  tick  of  the  clock! 

Mists  of  Fear,  Mists  of  Memory,  swirl  and  writhe, 

I  )f\e,  curl  and  coil 

From  the  mountain  tops. 

A  stretch  of  ochre  grass  by  the  river; 

Bent  trees  imploring  the  sun ; 

And  by  the  inn  a  road  that  stretches 

Along  the  river,  full  of  dead  dreams,  patience, 

Weariness  long  endured! 

nd  morning  of  rain. 
Second  morning  of  separation,  death  in  loneliness! 

[277] 


THE  INN 

The  wind  rushes  to  the  corner  of  the  porch 

And  sighs  as  it  hides. 

Second  morning  that  I  see 

The  walker  of  the  road : 

An  opera  cloak  of  blue  blows  round  him, 

Flaps  out  a  lining  of  red. 

And  an  Alpine  hat  comes  down  to  his  little  ears. 

He  is  booted,  he  limps  a  little. 

But  he's  a  figure  compacted  of  iron, 

He's  master  of  the  landscape; 

He  has  cowed  it,  kicks  it  about  him, 

As  if  to  say:  "A  village,  a  road, 

A  river,  mountains,  rain,  an  inn, 

And  a  lonely  soul  in  the  inn. 

Well,  what  of  it?    To-morrow  Benares, 

To-morrow  Bactria — who  knows?" 

And  I  know  as  well  as  I  know  dead  flies, 
And  the  tick  of  the  clock 
He  wants  me,  passes  the  inn  to  draw  me. 
Strides  to  my  view,  though  he  never  looks  in. 
The  flap  of  his  cloak  is  a  gesture  ; 
His  eyes  fixed  straight  ahead  allure. 
He  is  passing  again,  returns  and  passes. 
I  can  stand  no  more! 

I  walk  from  the  room,  and  haste  to  his  side. 
A  rusty  hand  out  of  the  blue  of  his  cloak 
Reaches  for  mine;  silken  soft  in  the  palm 

[278] 


THE  INN 

Like  an  anthropoid's,  but  boned 
To  the  strength  of  bronze  in  the  fingers. 
Red  scar  on  his  cheek — a  sabre  cut ! 
Or  was  it  an  aiguille  gashed  him 
When  he  fell  headlong  like  a  meteor, 
And  rolled  to  a  valley,  got  up,  shook  out, 
And  dusted  himself,  set  forth  to  travel 
From  Ctesiphon  to  Sarajevo?  .  .  . 

But  now  the  blue  and  red, 
The  Alpine  hat,  the  little  ears, 
Against  the  ochre  of  stricken  grass 
Are  shrunk  to  the  rust  of  jowl  and  jaw, 
And  the  scar,  like  lips  grown  to; 
And  the  smile  of  Jenghiz  Khan.  .  .  . 
His  voice  is  the  lowest  octave 
Of  riotous  thought,  conscienceless  as  nature. 
No  talk,  much  thought.    The  earth's  a  treadmill, 
And  spheres  back  of  us  to  toes  dug  in, 
Until  we  come  to  a  mountain  lake 
Clear  and  calm  as  a  sky. 

Green  shadows  rich  as  moss  around  the  shores; 
Clouds,  clear  blues  at  the  centre! 
We  are  bending  over,  see  each  other's  faces 
In  the  water. 

What  was  it?    Red  scar  on  his  check, 
Or  red  feather  in  the  Alpine  hat  ? 
I  thrill!    For  I  see  his  eyes  at  last; 
They  are  the  fires  of  burning  cities, 

[279] 


THE  INN 

Carthage,  Athens. 

Quick !    And  \ve  are  lying 

Looking  up  into  the  sky. 

When  a  whiff  of  rotting  men — I  turn 

But  he  stays  me  with  his  hand. 

The  scent  passes — he  talks 

To  me — the  sky ! 

"I  am  a  soul  fancier  and  catcher, 

A  catcher  and  eager  of  birds, 

Whether  they  be  kites,  condors,  cormorants, 

Crows,  cow-birds,  vultures, 

Or  martins,  mocking-birds,  or  hawks, 

Shrikes,  orioles,  clarindas,  thrushes, 

Songsters,  or  scavengers,  I  catch  them, 

And  in  these  mountains,  call  them  of  memory 

Or  bitter  reflection, 

I  cage  them. 

But  to  be  brief :  Your  bird  of  prey  I  catch 

By  luring  him  with  carrion ; 

And  your  mocking  bird  with  sounds 

Sweet  as  his  own  soul's  echo,  ns  it  were 

Unreal  made  real.    But  whether  bird  of  prey, 

Or  songster,  it's  to  fool  them 

Always,  until  my  hand  cups  over  so — 

Then  a  cottage,  in  the  mountains  of  memory! 

"I  prize  the  soul  called  mocking  bird 
Mimetic  of  all  spirits,  would  be  all, 

[280] 


THE  INN 

Self-fooler,  and  world  fooler! 

Coos  in  scourged  kingdoms  like  the  dove, 

Presaging  peace; 

Croaks  like  the«eagle  where  the  serfs  implore 

Omens  and  leadership. 

I  caught  one  lately,  big  as  any  crow. 

And  cooped  him — you  shall  see! 

But  first  as  far  as  Prague,  borne  over  seas, 

I  heard  the  eagle,  yes,  was  nearly  fooled, 

Me,  the  expert  in  songsters,  souls! 

I  looked  my  soul-bird  up  and  found 

My  en^le  was  a  mocking-bird; 

And  when  he  croaked  of  counsel  and  debate, 

And  breathing  bracing  air  of  matching  minds, 

He  was  the  mocking  bird  embowered  and  hidden 

In  scented  leaves  of  dreams, 

And  sang  what  he  would  be,  but'could  not  be ! 

A  lyrist  who  sang  down  seclusion,  still 

Could  live  nowhere  but  in  concealment. 

A  seeker  of  sweet  notes  from  rich  thesauri, 

Slaved  to  the  habit  of  the  lexicon. 

I  would  not  catch  him  yet !     Believe  me  npw 

There  is  that  in  each  soul  which  builds  its  cage, 

Achieves  its  capture,  be  it  thirst  or  lust, 

A  lexicon  or  rhetoric,  singing  notes 

Which  makes  the  world  say:  'Hear  the  eagle  cry!' 

The  world  is  fooled,  but  not  the  self  is  fooled; 

It  sleeps,  submits  to  singing,  but  arouses 

When  soul  is  highest  charmed  with  its  own  song, 


THE  INN 

And  at  the  apex  of  the  life,  and  treats 
The  man  as  mocking  bird  for  what  he  is !  ... 
The  self  as  mocking  bird  betrays  and  leads, 
Not  eagle-wings,  but  weak  wings  to  the  fray, 
And  there  the  realest  self  is  seen  at  last 
Of  self  and  all.    To  capture  them  or  slay 
Is  where  I  come  and  act. 

"Sweet  bird  of  dawning,  dreaming  of  Fourteen, 

Who  carried  Christ  across  a  stream, 

And  gained  the  magic  sack, 

Into  the  which  whatever  he  wished  would  come 

When  saying  Artchila  and  Murtchila. 

But,  he,  this  Fourteen,  bird  of  dawning,  mock-bird 

How  could  he  carry  Christ?    What  magic  bag 

Would  gather  in,  to  words  like  'counsel,'  'process'? 

So  charmed  with  voice  of  self  he  flew  alone 

To  a  parley  of  fowls.    And  there  amid  rich  crumbs, 

Silk  vestured  falconers,  birds  of  paradise, 

Mock  eagle  fails,  but  true  to  song 

Utters  what  self  of  him  destroys  him  for. 

Then  I,  to  end,  come  in! 

"Wouldn't  you  think  he'd  know  what  had  been  done 

To  him,  his  counsels,  processes? 

Voice  of  the  eagle  sometimes,  but  the  talons 

And  wings,  where  were  they? 

How  was  he  Christopherus,  how  Fourteen? 

I  step  in  here  and  send  him 

[282] 


THE  INN 

On  a  great  tour  of  singing,  laugh  in  my  sleeve 

To  see  him  start  with  his  empty  magic  bag — 

Empty?    Great  wars  to  come  and  woes, 

Hatreds  and  desolations,  blight  of  unfaith, 

And  distillate  of  night-shade:  Soul's  despair 

Were  in  the  bag  now. 

But  I  forget — all  could  not  see  these  in  it, 

Though  most  could  see  an  empty  bag.    Well,  now 

My  project  was  to  send  him  forth  to  chant 

The  rhetoric  of  a  life-time,  tent  him  to 

The  repetend  and  echo,  the  refrain 

That  hides  a  hollow  courage,  and  a  brain 

Tired  of  its  make-believe,  and  borrowed  moods. 

My  plan  went  further:  Thus  to  send  him  forth, 

And  in  keen  lighting  have  him  see  himself 

As  some  ten  thousand  saw  him ;  in  one  moment 

Together  by  him  and  them!  flash  picture 

Photographed  on  a  mountain's  wall, 

And  visible  for  ages!     So  it  was! 

I  laughed,  but  being  master  I  could  pity.  .  .  .' 

My  hand  goes  over  him  cup-like  now,  shuts  eyes 

From  sight  of  how  he  pecked  me  peevishly, 

Like  a  stud-sparrow  shrilled.    Time  for  the  cage 

For  our  mock-eagle,  logolyrist,  truly! — 

You  shall  know  them  by  their  words." 

"How's  this  so  quick,  on  a  peak?" 

I  said,  for  there  we  were,  and  the  lake  lost. 

Below  us  the  plum  world,  pitted  with  gums:  oceans. 

[283] 


THE  INN 

Streaked   with  streams:  white-wash   excrement  of  spar 
rows  ; 

Pine  forests:  fuzz  on  the  rind ;  lice  green  and  brown:  men. 
I  bawl  in  his  ear  against  the  breeze 
Whirl-pooled  around  us: 
"No  Jesus  business,  no  Budda  business, 
I  wouldn't  give  a  damn  for  it  all." 
"You  lie,"  he  said.    "You're  like  the  rest 
Esophagus,  coil  of  guts,  a  vent." 
"Man  is  a  spirit."    "Man  is  a  smell." 
Just  then  up  from  the  world's  valley  a  breeze 
Bearing  the  stench  of  ten  million  corpses — 
"Hey!     I  faint." 

I  back  away,  bump  into  a  cottage  wall,  a  door 
Which  opens — and  there 
Is  logolyrist  caged,  in  durance, 
Twittering  to  himself  the  habitual  notes, 
Impotent,  damned,  alone! 

"Night  comes  quickly  these  days,"  says  the  landlady 
Lighting  the  lamp.     I  stretch  out  of  sleep 
And  pat  the  head  of  an  honest  dog. 


[284] 


MONODY  ON  THE  DEATH  OF 
WILLIAM  MARION  REEDY 

I 

Son  of  the  freer  Republic,  child  of  a  day 

More  joyous  and  more  vital  and  more  blest 

At  the  feast  of  Life ;  great  heart,  wise  and  gay, 

Forgiving  and  compassionate,  though  ever  stressed 

Her  ween  the  thorns,  seeing  afar  the  flower; 

And  living  from  hour  to  hour 

In  laughter  for  your  wounds,  or  with  a  sigh 

For  the  thickening  brambles  that  around  you  pressed 

April  has  come  to  me  again  and  May 

Since  that  July 

When  you  sank  gladly  to  a  coveted  rest, 

Almost  with  your  words  to  me  upon  your  lips: 

That  immortality 

Is  not  a  promise,  but  a  threat;  that  sleep 

Ho\vever  eternal,  or  however  deep 

No  more  the  worn  out  heart  equips 

For  life  again ;  cannot  make  whole 

A  liver  and  a  dreamer,  and  a  soul 

That  climbed,  as  you  did,  earth's  precipitous  steep. 

[285] 


THE  DEATH  OF  WILLIAM  MARION  REEDY 

II 

You  who  had  lived  with  books  and  walked  the  city 

Of  statesman  and  of  priest, 

Of  money  changer,  theorist, 

And  knew  the  human  heart  thereby, 

Saw  with  clairvoyant  eye 

Behind  my  irony  and  laughter,  pity; 

Behind  indifference  desire; 

At  the  core  of  me  unquenchable  fire, 

Walled  with  impenetrable  ice. 

This  I  confess: 

I  strewed  adversities  to  your  love 

With  pride,  with  slow  forgiveness 

Of  the  world's  ways.    Yet  for  the  strength  thereof, 

Born  of  that  mystic  brotherhood,  which  can  rise 

From  kindred  spirits,  none  the  less 

Was  your  love  mine,  even  to  the  end. 

You  were  my  brother,  O  my  friend ! 

Ill 

The  wages  of  Wisdom  is  Death  :— 

Shame,  Fear,  Want,  Hate,  Lust,  Strife  and  Enmity, 

All  these  you  lived,  and  living  them  through 

You  survived  them,  but  still  knew 

Their  quality.    At  last  from  them  made  free 

You  stood  in  blossom,  perfecter  of  bloom 

At  the  touch  of  the  sickle  than  ever  in  all  your  years. 

Pure  flame  had  conquered  the  reek  and  fume 

[286] 


THE  DEATH  OF  WILLIAM  MARION  REEDY 

Of  the  gross  fuel  of  your  nature,  feeding 

The  light  that  lighted  us,  but  to  consume 

Itself  at  last.    O  soul  of  eyes  and  ears 

Open  and  heeding 

Signs  of  all  fair  and  foul  in  the  land,  all  climes, 

Riches  of  dead  epochs,  ancient  times. 

O,  human,  worldly  Augustine,  in  your  tower 

Watching  the  wavering  lines  of  Want  or  Power, 

Hailing  and  warning,  Stilites  of  the  rite 

Of  Epicurus  (that  happiness  at  the  last 

Is  freedom)  viewing  the  misty  age 

Atop  a  pillar  of  Zeus,  and  holding  fast, 

Through  change  and  weariness,  to  work,  in  spite 

Of  clear  conviction,  nothing  can  assuage 

The  soul's  desire.    Though  the  flesh  has  food, 

And  water,  and  is  satisfied, 

Yet  the  soul  must  hunger  for  hope,  for  explanation 

Of  this  insoluble  task  of  life,  defied 

By  every  test  of  the  human  soul,  still  wooed 

By  flitting  lights  of  faith  and  intimation. 

Yet  if  soul  father  us  could  soul  not  do 

For  souls  of  us  what  water  for  our  thirst 

Accomplishes?     Promethean,  this  you  knew: 

The  restless  search  with  which  man's  soul  is  cursed; 

Yet  brooding  on  it,  still  you  dreamed 

Of  a  city  for  all  nations,  consecrate 

To  the  creative  spirit  of  God  in  man ; 

Guardian  angels  were  to  you  revealed 

In  labor  with  man's  fate, 

[287] 


THE  DEATH  OF  WILLIAM  MARION  REEDY 

Uplifting  the  human  spirit,  like  a  flame, 

Consoled,  redeemed, 

Strengthened  and  purified  and  healed, 

To  the  silent,  eternal  life  from  whence  it  came. 

Ill 

To  this  you  have  gone.    I  saw  your  artist  hands 

That  had  so  little  rest 

Folded  in  quietness  upon  your  breast. 

Whether  the  dead  find  peace,  or  loose  the  bands 

Of  some  intenser  rhythm,  still  with  peace 

Your  face  was  sealed,  as  of  a  great  surcease : 

Like  sculpture,  tideless  streams, 

Or  winter  woods,  or  windless  skies, 

Or  sleep  that  has  no  dreams. 

Those  spheres  of  flame,  your  ever  wandering  eyes, 

Were  turned  within  to  a  realm  more  deep, 

Where  death's  great  secret  seemingly  was  known 

As  some  clear,  mild  Simplicity!     Or  'twas  sleep 

Of  the  unborn  that  stilled  them,  or  the  void 

Of  the  dead  seed  never  sown.   .  .  . 

You  were  no  more  to  me,  whatever  death  is. 

I  stood  alone 

Empty  of  hand,  save  for  the  heritage 

Of  what  you  were : 

A  voice,  a  light,  a  music  of  deep  tone, 

Which  life  made  richer,  and  the  age, 

And  something  of  heaven  employed 

To  be  for  us  our  best  interpreter. 


THE  DEATH  OF  WILLIAM  MARION  REEDY 

You  were  our  star  of  empire  lighting 

The  path  of  peoples  more  and  more 

To  a  freer  day!     O,  voice  of  you  which  woke 

Rapt  listeners  over  the  earth. 

Out  of  your  ashes  wings  of  memory  soar 

To  carry  the  message  of  your  life  and  word. 

Death  of  your  body  was  the  clearer  birth 

Of  the  spirit  of  you,  shining  afar 

Upon  our  day  and  days  to  be: 

As  evening  winds  blow  coldly,  yet  make  free 

From  mist  and  hovering  cloud 

The  Western  Star ! 


[289] 


GOD  AND  MY  COUNTRY 

He  had  the  bluest  eyes  I  ever  saw, 

And  a  smiling  face  like  a  bed  of  yellow  daisies, 

And  a  voice  around  the  house  like  a  pet  crow. 

And  he  went  whistling  through  the  yard  and  rooms, 

His  hands  grimed  up  with  grease  about  machines, 

Which  he  could  take  apart  and  put  together. 

And  he  could  run  a  motor  boat  or  a  car. 

Or  mend  a  telephone  or  a  dynamo. 

And  he  knew  novels,  poetry  and  science. 

And  he  could  swim,  and  box  and  run  a  race. 

And  on  a  morning  I  went  in  his  room 

And  saw  his  naked  body,  saw  his  shoulders 

As  broad  as  a  great  wrestler's,  and  his  arms 

As  big  as  mine.     He  started  to  play  bear, 

And  took  me  in  his  arms  and  hugged  me  so 

I  felt  my  ribs  crack.    Then  I  wondered  when 

He  had  quit  wearing  stockings  and  knee  breeches, 

And  when  it  was  he  slipped  to  seventeen, 

Became  a  man. 

And  so  the  war  came  on. 
He  tried  to  be  a  flyer,  for  he  knew 
What  engines  were  and  all  about  machines 
And  he  knew  trigonometry,  and  chemistry, 
[290] 


GOD  AND  MY  COUNTRY 

And  wireless  telegraphy — but  his  age 

Debarred  him  from  the  flyers;  so  he  chafed 

And  did  not  whistle  as  he  used  to  do, 

But  prowled  a  little  like  a  yearling  bear. 

And  then  his  face  grew  bright  again:  he  had  gone, 

Enlisted  in  the  army,  came  to  me, 

His  face  all  glowing:  "Everything  I  am 

You  taught  to  me,"  he  said ;  "to  love  the  truth, 

To  love  democracy  and  America. 

And  now  we  have  a  war,  the  very  first 

When  men  could  fight  to  bring  democracy. 

Our  country  turned  against  the  revolution 

In  France,  which  was  a  democratic  cause, 

But  now  we  war  to  bring  democracy 

To  peoples  everywhere,  and  I  am  off. 

God  moves  among  us,  and  to  serve  and  die 

Are  blessings,  I  am  happy,  and  am  off." 

He  terrified  me  with  his  shining  face, 
His  blue  eyes,  beautiful  body,  slim  and  strong. 
St.  George  was  not  more  beautiful.     I  was  awed, 
And  said  to  him:  "You  terrify  me,  boy. 
There  are  plenty  of  men  to  go,  await  the  call ; 
Go  if  they  call  you,  but  you  have  your  school, 
And  if  you  go  you'll  never  go  to  school 
Again,  and  that  will  leave  you  half  prepared 
For  life,  you'll  feel  it  all  the  rest  of  life." 
But  he  stood  up  so  straight  and  stern  and  shining 
And  said:  "I  owe  this  service  to  you,  Dad. 


GOD  AND  MY  COUNTRY 

For  what  you've  been  and  taught  me,  and  I  owe  it 

To  God  and  to  my  country."    So  it  was 

He  terrified  me,  and  I  said:  "My  boy, 

I  am  not  wise  enough,  after  all,  to  say 

What  you  should  do.     Perhaps  you  have  a  vision — 

You  are  America  come  to  herself ; 

A  vision  and  a  mission  and  a  glory 

Perhaps,  perhaps.     I  step  aside.    Go  on!" 

They  took  him  to  a  camp,  and  in  a  week 

I  went  to  see  him.    He  was  in  a  pen 

Like  a  prize  porker,  looked  a  little  down. 

He  had  been  shot  with  vaccines  of  all  sorts. 

He  didn't  say  much.    Two  weeks  after  that 

I  saw  him  and  he  had  a  cold  he  caught 

From  doing  picket  duty  in  the  rain 

And  sleeping  on  a  mattress  soaked  with  rain. 

The  food  was  pretty  good,  not  very  good. 

He  whispered :  "All  the  pin-heads  in  the  world 

Have  got  the  jobs  of  officers.     I'm  surprised. 

I  know  more  mathematics  than  they  do, 

And  more  of  everything.     I  thought  an  officer 

Was  educated.    Well,  I  am  surprised." 

He  said  the  boys  were  dying  right  and  left 

Because  they  had  no  care.    And  on  a  day 

When  he  came  home  to  visit  for  a  while 

He  was  stricken  with  the  flu.    I  telephoned 

The  officer,  who  raved  and  said  no  trick 

Would  go  with  him.     He'd  send  for  him.     He  did, 

[292] 


GOD  AND  MY  COUNTRY 

And  took  him  out  with  a  raging  temperature, 
And  back  to  camp.     He  almost  died  for  that. 
And,  when  he  got  up,  wobbled  for  some  weeks. 
And  about  the  time  he  stood  up  fairly  strong 
They  shipped  him  off  to  Europe;  and  they  went 
Yelling  like  tigers  smelling  blood,  and  God 
Seemed  farthest  from  their  thoughts. 

Well,   so   it  went. 

And  after  while  we  had  the  armistice, 
The  war  was  over,  but  no  letter  came. 
Where  was  he?    Dead?    We  couldn't  learn  a  thing. 
Until  at  last  this  boy  who  went  to  fight 
For  God  and  for  democracy  landed  up 
In  Russia  fighting  democracy,  as  America 
Fought  France  in  eighteen  hundred — for  a  letter 
Came  to  us  telling  where  he  was.    And  there 
He  stayed  some  months  and  fought  for  covenants 
Arrived  at  in  the  open,  independence 
Of  little  and  big  peoples,  for  the  sea's 
Freedom,  or  democracy,  I'm  not  sure, 
For  one  of  these  or  all,  I  am  not  sure. 
He  got  through  anyway,  or  they  got  through 
With  him,  perhaps,  for  he  came  back  at  last, 
One  eye  out  and  one  leg  gone,  and  he'd  lost 
God,  so  he  said,  and  didn't  use  the  word 
Democracy  at  all,  and,  as  for  war, 
He  said  to  me:  "What  is  it?    Everything 
Has  its  own  idea,  and  the  idea  of  war 

[293] 


GOD  AND  MY  COUNTRY 

Is  killing  people?    That's  our  job,  that's  war! 
And  everybody  yells  atrocities, 
And  everybody  does  'em — what  the  hell 
Do  people  think  war  is,  a  Sunday  School  ? 
I  want  some  money,  Dad,  for  I  am  broke ; 
And  I  can't  work  at  much  now,  and,  by  God, 
I  think  I'll  write  my  story.    So  they'll  know 
They  use  you,  and  they  fool  you,  and  you  die 
That  some  one  may  make  money  selling  stuff, 
Or  grab  off  lands  or  commerce.    Hell's  delight! 
When  I  was  sick  in  Russia,  had  delusions, 
I  saw  a  snake  so  big  he  wrapped  the  world 
And  swallowed  it  with  everybody  in  it. 
You  see,  the  snake's  the  money-men,  big  business, 
The  schemers,  human  buzzards,  who  eat  up 
Young  fellows  and  the  kids,  and  lay  on  fat 
With  fresh  young  blood  that  wants  to  shed  itself 
For  God  and  truth !     I  killed  a  Russian  soldier 
And  said:  'You  bastard,'  as  I  stuck  him  through, 
You  hate  yourself,  so  you  just  kill  to  glut 
Your  hatred  of  yourself,  your  cruelty 
Which  lusts,  as  it  can  masquerade  behind 
The  mask  of  duty.    Give  me  a  dollar,  Dad, 
To  get  some  cigarettes  and  some  shaving  blades." 


[294] 


THE  DUNES  OF  INDIANA 

Under  a  sky  as  green  as  a  juniper  berry 
The  yellow  sands  of  the  dunes,  in  clefts  and  curves 
Run  up  and  down,  until  the  horizon  swerves 
At  Michigan  City,  twenty  miles  from  Gary. 

Scrawls  and  grotesqueries  of  giants  who  laugh 

At  the  storm's  puffed  cheeks,  the  water's  pilfering  hands! 

Like  the  beat  of  a  heart  traced  by  a  cardiograph, 

Their  sky-line  lifts  and  lulls, 

With  the  eternal  pulse 

Of  air  and  the  sands. 

The  dunes  are  a  quilt  of  yellow,  green  and  gray 
Spread  to  the  Calumet  River. 
IVaked  by  giant  children  who  play 
Circus  with  feet  for  poles.    Fantastic  dunes, 
Protean  hills,  and  migratory  tents 
Of  invisible  gypsies,  changing  with  the  moon's 
Replenished  and  exhausted  valleys  of  light. 
Forests  of  pine  and  oak  arise 
On  many  a  height, 
And  down  the  steep  descents 
Flourish  and  vanish  from  sight, 
[295] 


THE  DUNES  OF  INDIANA 

Under  the  restless  feet  of  the  wandering  hills. 

They  trace  in  sand  the  changes  of  the  skies 

When  the  sun  of  evening  smelts 

Great  towers  of  cloud  or  battlements, 

And  levels  them,  or  warps 

Their  shapes  to  broken  walls, 

Or  twisted  scraps, 

Or  floors  of  emerald  strewn  with  lion  pelts.  .  .  . 

Here  there  are  water-falls; 

Lakes  bright  as  mercury,  and  pools 

Green  as  the  mosses,  where  hepaticas 

And  asters  scurry  before  the  gesturing  wind ; 

Cool  hollows,  scented  brakes 

Of  bramble,  fern  and  cane; 

Great  marshes  where  the  flags  leap  like  green  snakes, 

Bordered  with  garish  gules 

Of  pye-weed ;  over  whose  wastes  the  crane 

Flaps  the  slow  rhythm  of  extended  wings. 

And  on  whose  reeds  the  blackbird  sings 

A  quaver  of  blue  water,  March's  fire. 

Between  the  feet  of  the  dunes  and  the  trampling  troops 
Of  waves  along  the  shore  the  sand  is  pounded 
Into  a  broad  mosaic  firm  and  smooth, 
Whereon  are  strewn  old  reels,  between  the  groups 
Of  blackened  hut  and  booth. 
Boats  lie  here  where  they  grounded, 
Like  skeletons  in  the  desert  ribbed  and  black, 
Scaled  with  the  water's  scurf. 
[296] 


THE  DUNES  OF  INDIANA 

The  shore  is  the  moat  between  the  ruined  rampart 

Of  the  dunes,  whose  shifting  is  stayed 

By  splotches  of  thickets,  trees  and  turf, 

And  the  invading  surf. 

Here  phantom  mists  descend,  and  the  wrack 

Of  autumn  clouds  fade  into  the  air  when  storms 

Harry  the  water,  and  the  sand  is  flayed 

By  the  whip  of  the  wind. 

There  is  forever  here  the  futile  fashioning 

Of  hills,  and  their  leveling; 

The  growth  of  forests  and  their  burial ; 

Pools  filled  and  rivers  changed  or  dried 

Between  the  spoiling  winds,  and  the  mystical 

Hands  of  the  tide! 

Branches  as  gnarled  as  an  ancient  olive  tree 
Stream  cherry  blossoms  like  blown  snow 
Toward  the  blue  of  the  lake,  a  hundred  feet  below. 
They  have  been  sand,  now  being  blossoms  drift 
With  the  winds  whose  spirit  cannot  be 
Quieted  or  given  shrift. 
By  night  they  howl  or  whine 
As  if  they  asked  for  words,  or  a  sign 
To  tell  of  the  sand  and  seeds  and  spores 
Which  build  and  root,  bear  blossoms,  seed, 
And  change  the  uplands  and  the  shores; 
Destroy,  make  over,  mend 
Without  use,  without  end 
In  an  endless  cycle  of  sand  and  seed, 
[297] 


THE  DUNES  OF  INDIANA 

Of  wind  and  the  washing  of  waves; 

They  would  tell  why  forests  grow  and  find  their  graves; 

And  hills  glide  to  their  sepulchres, 

Even  as  cities  sink  and  pass  away: 

Old  Memphis,  or  old  Bactria.  .  0  „ 


[298] 


NATURE 

Seas,  mountains,  rivers,  hills,  forests  and  plains, 
Our  earth  that  floats  in  heaven's  translucent  sphere, 
And  keeps  us  fosterlings,  though  man  attains — 
As  a  spider  winds  the  nerve  white  gossamer 
From  its  own  being,  and  unwinding  sails 
The  heights — the  secrets  of  the  stars,  the  sheer 
Chasms  of  space,  and  tears  the  vaporous  veils 
From  Force  and  Distance.     Nature!    At  the  last 
Our  breast  of  consolation!     Man  exhales 
Thereon  the  spirit  which  was  on  him  cast 
From  that  same  breast  at  birth.    But  what  you  are 
Remains,  or  on  the  mind  of  man  is  glassed 
As  you,  remaining ;  while  the  farthest  star, 
The  changing  moon,  the  lessening  sun,  the  sands 
Of  buried  cities  toll  our  calendar 
Of  dying  days.    Waters  by  star  light,  lands 
That  slip  or  climb ;  leaves,  blossoms,  fruits  contain 
The  flesh  of  wonder  perished,  and  the  hands 
That  sought  with  zeal  or  laughter,  but  in  pain 
To  know  you  and  themselves.     Still  nourishing, 
Destroying,  but  unriddled,  you  remain! 

Immeasurable  Arc!    To  which  our  brief  existence 
Is  a  point,  if  relative,  not  understood. 


NATURE 

With  you  endowed  with  motion  and  persistence, 
Contained  within  you,  is  life  evil,  good? 
Is  life  not  of  you?    Is  there  aught  without 
By  which  to  judge  this  restless  brotherhood 
Of  will  and  water,  and  to  quiet  doubt 
That  life  is  good?    And  may  the  scheme  deny 
Itself  when  it  is  all,  and  rules  throughout, 
Knows  no  defeat,  except  as  forces  vie 
Within  it,  striving?    But,  O  Nature,  you 
Mother  of  suns  and  systems,  what  can  lie 
As  God  beyond  you,  making  you  untrue 
To  larger  truth  or  being?    You  are  all! 
And  man  who  moves  within  you  may  imbrue 
His  hands  in  war,  or  famine  on  him  fall 
Out  of  your  eyeless  genius,  yet  what  wrong 
Is  wrought  to  your  creating,  magical 
Renewal,  scheme?    What  arbiter  more  strong 
Than  you  are  judges  discord  for  the  strife 
That  stirs  upon  our  earth,  wherever  throng 
Thoughts,  forces,  fires.    What  is  evil?    Life! 
Even  as  life  is  struggle,  whether  it  smite, 
Or  lift,  as  waves  to  waves  in  will  are  rife 
With  enmity.    Whatever  is,  is  right. 
Like  insects  on  a  drift  weed  water  tossed 
The  sea  of  nature  moves  in  man's  despite, 
While  generations  flourish  and  are  lost. 

Ether  of  the  ethereal  energy 
Which  whirls  the  atoms:  Will  in  man.    And  soul 
[300] 


NATURE 

Which  is  to  light  as  light  to  flame:  the  free 
Soaring  of  man's  thought.     This  is  the  dole 
And  tragedy  of  man :  He  has  outgrown 
His  kinship  with  the  beasts  that  kept  him  whole, 
Through  thought,  which  is  not  instinct,  but  would  own 
The  unerring  realm  of  instinct.     Like  a  sun 
He  flares  his  thought  in  storms  of  fire,  has  flou  n 
His  symmetry  and  sphere,  has  wandered,  won 
No  orbit  for  the  beast's,  which  he  has  marred, 
Departed  from ;  must  finish  what's  begun, 
Until  he  be  in  spirit  moved  and  starred, 
Instinct  regained  to  thought,  his  sun  created 
As  far  as  flames  have  leaped ;  or  leave  the  scarred 
Black  cavities  of  his  hopes  to  beings  fated 
To  grow  therefrom  to  what  he  failed  to  reach. 
Something  within  him  drew  the  gods,  and  mated 
His  spirit  to  celestial  powers.     The  breach 
Between  him  and  the  beast  is  fixed.     He  sinks 
In  tangled  madness,  anger,  railing  speech, 
Below  the  ape,  or  else  he  rises,  links 
His  being  to  a  life  to  which  he  climbs, 
A  realm  of  thought  harmonious,  while  he  thinks. 
This  is  the  tragedy  of  man,  and  Time's 
Colossal  task  laid  on  him :  Roll  he  must 
The  stone  up  to  the  peak  against  the  slimes, 
And  fasten  it,  or  let  it  make  him  dust, 
Escaped  his  hand  and  crushing,  still  confess 
That  you,  O  Mighty  Mother,  still  are  just 
Who  fling  him  down  to  failure,  nothingness. 
[30i] 


NATURE 

This  is  the  tragedy  of  man:  to  learn 
Your  secret  wishes,  having  learned  to  press 
The  heights  of  life,  or  ignorant  still  to  burn 
With  questioning;  and  on  this  stage  of  earth 
Live  as  they  lived  of  old  in  a  return, 
Endless  of  useless  labor,  madder  mirth. 

Labor  or  Mirth!    No  matter — but  to  man, 
And  for  an  hour!    And  after  that  the  sleep. 
Waking  or  sleeping  man  fulfills  the  plan 
Of  you,  O  Mother.    Other  thought  may  crecr 
On  man's  defeated  spirit,  make  him  say 
That  you  should  weep,  O  Mother,  if  he  weep. 
But  we  are  but  ephemera  in  a  play 
Of  tangled  sun  light,  and  the  universe 
Of  ages  counts  the  minutes  of  our  day, 
And  makes  them  of  the  ages.    And  the  curse 
That  man  deems  his  is  not  upon  the  far 
And  infinite  existence.    It  could  nurse 
No  evil  in  great  spaces,  sun  and  star 
As  great  as  man's  to  man,  and  not  lie  down 
To  death  as  man  does.    Hence  if  you  unbar 
To  us,  O  Nature,  nothing  better,  crown 
Our  hour  w-ith  folly  still,  you  give  us  rest 
Among  the  mountains,  meadows,  and  unclown 
Our  idiot  brows,  and  on  your  infinite  breast 
Rock  us  eternally  under  the  infinite  sky. 

THE    END 
[302] 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
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